


Favorite Worst Nightmare

by oceans4jinyoung



Series: The Habits You Forgot to Outgrow [1]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, Alternate Universe - College/University, Class Issues, M/M, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22661527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceans4jinyoung/pseuds/oceans4jinyoung
Summary: Jinyoung, the privileged Ivy League boy, starts a rock band on a whim after seeing a drummer that he can't stop thinking about.  Mark, the Juliet drummer in question, is just trying to make it in a world that never made it easy for him.  Jaebeom, the ruthlessly fierce front man, is hellbent on protecting what he considers his.  And none of them are any better because of it.
Relationships: Im Jaebum | JB/Mark Tuan, Park Jinyoung/Mark Tuan
Series: The Habits You Forgot to Outgrow [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1674832
Comments: 126
Kudos: 142





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

> This work and its quotes are direct references to [Favorite Worst Nightmare by Arctic Monkeys.](https://open.spotify.com/album/6rsQnwaoJHxXJRCDBPkBRw?si=wxjC_HEvSKiWSWE_MYAvag)
> 
> Come yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/oceans4jinyoung) and [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/oceans4jinyoung)!!

**“Your eyes are on fire, you are the unforecasted storm.”**

Jinyoung hadn’t even wanted to go out. Because normally, he wouldn’t be caught dead at some underground rock show. And the thought of being pushed around in some rough crowd in a place that smelled of stale cigarettes and leather was the last way he wanted to spend a school night. Especially when he had an article due for his Narrative Journalism class the next day and he hadn’t even picked a topic yet. But Bambam had been crushing on this guy in his pattern making class who happened to bartend at the club the show was being held at and he was dead set on tonight being the perfect night to finally get it in. He had whined on his knees on the floor of Jinyoung’s room in the apartment they shared with Youngjae. Saying something about how he’d spent all day making a new outfit just for the occasion. Something about zippers in places they usually weren’t for “easy access.”

And Jinyoung knew that although going to the show meant he wouldn’t get his work done, having to listen to Bambam’s insistent whines also wouldn’t help him either. So that’s how he ended up in some rock club called The Balaclava on the opposite side of the railroad tracks that divided the university from the downtown.

It was exactly as Jinyoung expected it to be. The club was loud and crowded and almost as soon as they got in, Bambam disappeared from sight. Only coming back to deliver him a drink and kiss on the cheek, a thank you for agreeing to come.

Jinyoung waved him away, telling him to go make their shared efforts worth it for one of them, before the boy wove back through the crowd and out of sight.

The two openers were, by Jinyoung’s standards, bad. Clashing sounds and experimental trash metal. Guttural screaming and double kick drums. And he wasn’t sure if it was his cynicism bleeding into the experience, but even the crowd seemed relatively unimpressed.

After the second band, the MC bounded back on stage. An older man with long hair tied back into a ponytail, whose voice Jinyoung vaguely recognized from the local rock station that he’d always flick past whenever given the opportunity. “One last time!” he shouted. “Let’s give it up for Stank Loaf!”

The crowd cheered halfheartedly in response. Jinyoung looked at his watch and noticed that it was already getting far too late to pull anything but an all-nighter. He drained the rest of his drink in quiet frustration.

“Now,” the MC’s voiced feigned suspense. “Who is ready for our headliner of the night?”

The crowd swelled with sudden applause and cheers causing Jinyoung’s shoulders to jolt and the ice to slip out of his glass and down his sweater. He wiped his mouth, looking around. It was as if the crowd had been reserving all their energy for this moment. And it made him wonder what all the fuss was about.

“That’s what we like to hear!” the MC laughed. “As many of you know, this local band has been making a lot of buzz lately. I get flooded with calls hourly to play them. And it’s only a matter of time before they hit it big. You guys can’t get enough of them. Your hometown heroes.” The host pointed to stage left. “Brainstorm!”

The crowd exploded into cheers as the band began to enter the stage. The first one was a tall, lanky boy with a face that made Jinyoung question if he was even old enough to be in this club. He threw a bass over his sharp shoulder, picking up a water bottle from his amp and taking a few sips. His hands only slightly shaky as he tried to twist the cap back on. The second member was a guitarist who was built like some kind of athlete. Strong legs in his dark fitted jeans. Chains around his neck. Warm brown hair that spilled across his forehead into big soft eyes.

Next, the front man took center stage. Looking massive from where he stood in front of the crowd, everyone’s heads craning up to look at him. All broad shoulders that were only highlighted by his black leather jacket that seemed tailored around that strong frame. His hair cut into a shaggy mullet that flowed down his neck. His ears dressed in silvery metal and his black eyes pointed and fierce with the way the stage lights hit them. He was so striking that it was hard for Jinyoung to pull his gaze away.

But against the dark black of the stage, a flash of white caught his eyes. Rushing out behind his members was their drummer. His hair was a dark ashy blonde that looked nearly wet with the way he was pushing it out of his face. The tank he wore was stark white with his arm holes wide enough to see the expanses of lean muscle that lie beneath. A few tattoos against his ribs and arms were poking through under the bright lights. He sat down, adjusting himself on the stool. Testing out his foot pedals and flicking his sticks between his long, pretty fingers.

The front man turned himself, looking back at the drummer fully. His wide shoulders glinting in the way that the light reflected against that shiny black leather.

The drummer looked up. Shaking his hair away from his face. His eyes sparkling. His white smile stretching. Exchanging inaudible words with the front man before they seemed to resign themselves to staring. The drummers smile still wide as they started to nod their heads in time. 

“1-“ the front man shouted away from the mic. “2. 1-2-3-4.”

The crash of a cymbal started everyone off. The sound erupted from the four members. Something loud and fast. The rhythm guitar and bass beating together in time. The drums rhythmic against the lower toms. And the way the boy hit them. The muscles in his arms flexing. The way his lip went between his pointed teeth. Not missing a beat. Perfectly meticulous in the way he moved. Something in his deliberate chaos reminding Jinyoung of a unforecasted summer storm that was threatening to sweep everything away with it.

The front man watched the drummer play, too. Not tearing his eyes away for a long time. But as the measures played out into perfect sets of four and then eight and then sixteen, he backed himself to the mic. Turning and taking a deep breath before starting to sing.

His voice was different than Jinyoung expected. Not that guttural scream the other bands had tried to sell. No. His had something soulful in it. His lower register deep and rumbling along with the bass before jumping along trailing melodies that swam through the spirits of the bystanders. Craning his head to the side and screwing his eyes shut as he leapt along with the notes, like he was feeling them out with his whole body.

Jinyoung began to notice the movement of the crowd. The way everyone started to nod their heads in time. Looking up at that front man. The angle of their glances almost worshipful. Like he was some god that they were too enchanted to stray from.

He leaned into the mic, his shoulders drawing up as he leaned his hands on either side. His guitar pick folded between knuckles that were equally dressed in metal. His voice getting more and more frantic. Fueled with a raw emotion and urgency that permeated every note each of them strummed. 

Jinyoung looked back to the drummer who kept consistent in the vigorous way he played. Furrowing his brows and putting just as much intensity into his role. Spinning his sticks in his free hand when just giving a backbeat to the bridges. Tapping the high hat with controlled precision. Letting the sound grow from something controlled to something anamorphic. Feeling it in every part of him.

The song ended just as suddenly as it had started. And the crowd cheered as the band took a few sips of water. The front man coming up to the mic. “How are we doing tonight?” he asked in a smooth voice.

The crowd howled in response.

The front man smiled. Some mix of charming and sinister in his eyes. “Well, folks, we are Brainstorm and we are here to help you get it all out tonight,” he looked among the crowd. Sharp eyes drawing everyone in. “So, whether you’re mad at your boss or you’re brokenhearted about that bitch or you’re so in love you can’t contain it, let it all out tonight as if it’s the last chance you’ll get.” He smirked. “Can you all do that for me?”

The crowd echoed their response with renewed vigor. 

“Alright,” the man licked his lips. He turned back, wordlessly communicating. The drummer tapped out a few anticipatory strikes to the high hat before the band launched into their next song.

Jinyoung stood there watching. Forgetting about the crowd that grew looser and looser as they too started to thrash to the beat being set. Not able to take his eyes away from that starry-eyed drummer and the way everything about him seemed to contrast against the darkness. Yet, what was he if not the backbeat to all of this coordinated madness. The one people were aligning their heartbeats with. The one thrumming through every part of Jinyoung like nothing he’d ever felt. And much like that summer storm, Jinyoung was being swept away with it.

The set ended. The unmistakable shimmer of sweat that radiated down the drummer’s inked ribs and dotted his hairline. The way his chest heaved as he gathered himself off his stool. All the members waving to the crowd and giving their thanks. But as the members started to file off the stage towards the back door, Jinyoung was already trying to weave his way through the crowd. Not sure what he was doing but feeling driven forward. He fought against the current of people trying to move their way out of the venue, clawing his way through them towards the back. Right outside the stage door were a few rows of pinball machines and arcade games. And he kept following the flashing, multicolored lights until he got up to the door. Through the crack, he could see the fluorescent glow of backstage from beyond and it reminded him of the white energy of that drummer. He pushed forward before feeling a hand against his chest.

“Woah there,” the wide, stout bouncer pushed him back slightly. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Oh,” Jinyoung blinked, mind rushing. His mouth fell open. Trying to find the right lie. “I’m a friend of the band.”

The guard snickered. “Oh. Are you now?” He folded his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, I am,” Jinyoung pulled the ends of his sweater to readjust it, blowing a stray hair from his face.

The guard gave him a once over. “Is that why you look like you just walked out of some yacht club from the other side of the tracks?” he raised his brows.

Jinyoung looked down to his fitted khakis and his navy-blue sweater. Knowing he didn’t exactly fit in in a place like this. “Look-“

“Save it,” the guard said, holding up a hand. He raised his finger, pointing to the sign on the door before reading it aloud. “Musicians only.”

“But I just-“ Jinyoung blabbered out. Stumbling for an excuse.

“Sorry, kid,” he laughed, big and hearty. “Come back when you are a musician.”

Jinyoung felt the flood of nervous energy. He started to open his mouth again, ready to fire something that would hopefully change the bouncer’s mind. But something in him put the pieces together. He closed his mouth, turning on his heel.

He found Bambam at the bar, leaning in towards a man who was wiping it down in an act of closing. The boy’s flirty laugh ringing as he reached out, touching the bartender’s shoulder gently.

Jinyoung came up, grabbing Bambam’s arm and watching him snap his head back with wide eyes. “We got to go,” Jinyoung rushed. “Now.”

Bambam stared back at him. His wide eyes narrowing. “Jinyoung,” he said, through his teeth. Flicking his eyes towards the bartender. “Can’t you see I’m busy here.”

“Bam,” Jinyoung said firmly. Not hesitating on his next words. “Emergency meeting.”

Bam’s whole face fell. Any of that aggravation he’d been holding letting go into concern.

The three of them had a house rule. If anyone called an emergency meeting, no matter when, they all had to drop what they were doing and honor it. And the power had only been invoked a handful of times for the most serious of matters. So, all three of them knew not to take it lightly.

“Okay,” Bambam nodded, looking fondly back at the bartender before starting to walk out alongside Jinyoung. “What do you need?”

“Call Youngjae,” Jinyoung said, taking out his phone. “Tell him to wake up. And I’ll get us a taxi home.”

An hour later, Bambam and Youngjae were sitting on their couch in the living room while Jinyoung paced in front of them.

“Jinyoung. Can you tell us why you have called this emergency meeting?” Youngjae yawned. He was wearing his pajamas and his hair was mused from how he’d been sleeping on it.

“Yeah,” Bambam folded his arms over his chest. “What was so important that you had to pull me away from a night that could have ended in me giving the best blow job of my life?”

Jinyoung let out a shaky breath. He stopped. Standing in front of them. Darting his eyes between them. “We,” he started, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. “are starting a band.”

\---

**“The kids all dream of making it, whatever that means.”**

That was six months ago when Jinyoung first saw him. And he didn’t even know his name, but he knew that he had to do everything in his power to get next to him. So, he talked his rich parents into buying them instruments. Told them it was a good extracurricular to get their heads out of their books. A set of shiny new synths and a drum machine for Youngjae. A bass guitar for Bambam that he insisted be metallic silver. A classic electric guitar for himself. And Jinyoung stayed up long nights relearning the chords that he’d forgotten from his childhood classical guitar lessons. Working and reworking his fingers over the frets until the tips were sore and calloused.

Jinyoung was lucky to have Youngjae who was already a music major and, therefore, unquestionably more qualified than the rest of them. So Jinyoung would do web searches for something as nebulous as “how to write a song” and spend all night working just so in the morning, Youngjae could take the basic chords he’d picked out and create something proper with them. Helping Jinyoung work through the complex harmonies that he was a fan of. From there, they’d show Bambam how to run his slender fingers across the fat strings of the bass and strum out the lines. But Bambam was nothing if not a showman who readily stepped up to the challenge.

Once they had enough songs for a set, Jinyoung started making some calls. Trying to get them a show anywhere. A bowling alley. A kid’s birthday. Anything to get them out there. The first show they ever played was a free anime convention at their university. They put them in a small meeting room in the student union. And the audience was full of cosplayers and people just looking for seats so they could rest and reset from walking around the artists booths all day. 

But by the end of the set, they had enough people nodding their heads to prove that it hadn’t been the total disaster they had expected. “What was your guys’ name again?” some girl in fluffy pink cat ears had asked when they were starting to break down.

“Fluorescent Adolescents,” Jinyoung smiled, looking up from the pedals that he was unplugging.

“I’ll remember you guys,” she smiled before saying something about making a Studio Ghibli trivia hour.

Jinyoung wrapped a cord around his arm.

“When did you decide that?” Youngjae asked from behind his synth, a sneer in his voice.

Jinyoung turned back. His eyes going wide. “Do you not like it?” he shrank.

“No,” Youngjae narrowed his eyes. He lifted his drum machine off its stand, tucking it under his arm. “I fucking love it.”

And so, they started sailing under the name and slowly gathering more shows. The venues getting bigger and their recognition growing slightly larger every time. Until Jinyoung was about to leave office hours after getting some feedback on an article he wrote and his TA stopped him. “Hey. Aren’t you the guitar player from FA?” she looked up with curious eyes.

And Jinyoung hadn’t even known that people were abbreviating their band name. “Yeah,” he smirked, shyly. “That’s me.”

“I saw your show at that bar across campus,” she nodded. “You guys are so cool. I love electronic stuff.”

And Jinyoung couldn’t take any of the credit for that. It had been Youngjae’s propensity for M83 and Passion Pit that inspired their sound while Jinyoung was just the one always scribbling lyrics about sparkling eyes and a body like a storm.

“Thanks,” he accepted, head reeling from the compliment. Feeling a bit awkward. “Well, have a great summer.” He started to head out.

“Hey,” she stopped him again. “I actually work at the Balaclava on the weekends. You know the rock club across town. I could maybe put in a good word for you guys? If you’d be interested?”

Jinyoung’s eyes went wide as saucers. “Really?” he stuttered out. “I mean. We are relatively fresh on the scene and I don’t really know if we are ready and-”

“No way,” she shook her head. “You guys are better than most of those heavy metal bands they are always giving stage time to. Here, give me your number and I’ll keep you updated.”

It was about four days later, when Jinyoung had nearly lost hope and an adequate sleep schedule, that he got the call. “Guys,” he called. “GUYS.” He rushed into the living room, socks skidding across the floor. 

Youngjae peeked his head out of his room where he’d been studying for his music theory final. “Don’t tell us it’s another emergency meeting,” he sighed.

“Yeah,” Bambam scoffed, slinking out of the kitchen. “This time he’s going to want us to join the circus.”

“No,” Jinyoung scoffed. “Would you just listen to me? We got the show. We got the Balaclava!”

They only had three days to prepare so by the time the show came around, they were dead tired from many long nights of trying to get everything just right. The boys were thankful that summer vacation was upon them, so they didn’t have any Friday classes impeding their designated set up time. And as they were sound checking, Jinyoung saw him come in.

He was in light tattered jeans and black tank, rippling muscle and ink showing through. A red bandana twisted up and tied around his head, pulling his hair out of his face. His skin was so warm looking, even darkened by the glare of the stage lights in Jinyoung’s eyes. And it made Jinyoung freeze where he stood, his hands suddenly fumbling against his guitar.

The jolt of sound made the boy stop, looking up.

And Jinyoung saw those sparkling eyes staring back at him. For the first time. At him. And it brought him right back to that night. Except now, the bass beating in his heart wasn’t prompted by the fierce way he played those drums but just the sight of him. Loud and thumping in Jinyoung’s ears.

“Jinyoung!” a voice called.

And he looked away, seeing Youngjae staring at him quizzically. “Did you hear me?” he shook his head, annoyed. “I said, let’s take it from the second verse. I need to track the drums just right.”

“Yeah,” Jinyoung licked his lips. “I heard you. Let’s do it.”

Youngjae counted them off before they started back up again.

And Jinyoung started strumming in beat with Youngjae’s drum machine, his eyes squinting back out over the venue to try and spot the boy again. But he was gone.

They continued on with the soundcheck until everything sounded as balanced as it could for how amateur they were. “Okay,” the stagehand had leaned into his mic in the sound booth. “All set, boys.”

Jinyoung pulled off his guitar, setting it into its stand and starting to come down the stage steps. His ears perking at the sound of the arcade games in the corner. His eyes following.

The drummer was leaned forward into the claw machine. Drumsticks sticking out of his back pocket. His mouth twisted up and his brows furrowed as he watched the prizes with a quizzical eye.

“Hey,” Jinyoung called towards Youngjae and Bam. “I’ll catch up in a minute.” And he started walking up behind the boy. Watching the way he edged the joint stick along, his tongue poking out between his sharp teeth in the reflection of the machine.

“Need help?” Jinyoung offered. “I heard the secret is going for the ones closer to the back.

“No,” the boy said, not looking away. “The secret…” he held his breath. “…is timing.”

“Timing?” Jinyoung asked.

The drummer didn’t look up. “The machine has a rhythm,” he beckoned his head towards the top of the glass case. “See the lights?”

Jinyoung looked up to the flashing lights at the top.

“Seventeen beats. Double time. An odd number to follow. And the machine only closes the claw fully on the fifteenth beat. But they are betting that you’ll get too impatient before then and drop it sooner,” he leaned the joint stick slightly more in, adjusting it just a smidge to the right. “You have to wait… for the perfect moment,” he took in a deep breath, like a sniper preparing to take the shot. “And then-“ He hit the button with rapid fire reaction speed, descending the claw into the pit of toys and watching it pull up a stuffed Pikachu and drop it down the chute.

“Not bad,” Jinyoung smiled. He leaned down and pressed the door open to retrieve. “Guess the drumming is good for something,” he smiled, handing over the toy.

Mark reached out, grabbing it. But his eyes caught onto the event wristband around Jinyoung’s wrist. The orange color indicating that he was a musician. He looked up towards his face. Watching the recognition click across his bright features. “You were the one sound checking?”

Jinyoung felt the reddening of embarrassment crawling up the back of his neck and was suddenly thankful that Bambam had put him in a white button down with a high collar. And that even after the boy had pleaded that he unbutton half the buttons, he’d kept it closed against his chest. “Yeah,” he nodded. “I’m playing in one of the openers.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed in curiosity. “Who are you?” he tilted his head. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

Jinyoung felt the nerves welling up. Tasting the anticipation on his tongue. “My name is Jinyoung,” he said. “I front Fluorescent Adolescents.”

Mark furrowed his brows for a moment. Thinking hard. Painfully beautiful despite the twist of his face. “Ohhh,” he broke into realization. “The electro band, right?”

And Jinyoung felt himself flush at the thought of him knowing who they were. “Yeah,” he smiled. “That’s us.”

The drummer smiled wide. Bright and breathtaking. “Yeah. My front man fucking hates you guys,” he laughed.

Jinyoung’s face crumbled instantaneously. “What?”

“Yeah,” he giggled, still managing to look so endearing. “He’s always going off about how you’re not a real band without a drummer. That you guys are just trying to be some bad Phoenix rip off.”

Jinyoung’s mouth went dry. Suddenly regretting ever giving Youngjae the reigns on the music. Thinking about how all these months of practice had gone completely to waste. Thinking this interaction was crumbling before even taking off.

“Relax,” the boy reached out, pushing his shoulder. “I think you guys sound cool.” He shrugged.

Jinyoung felt himself take a breath. Wishing he could play back that momentary touch thirty times over. Wishing he could have moved fast enough to grab his hand and draw him closer. Back him against that claw machine and— “Thanks,” he said, regaining his composure. He pulled himself away from his busy thoughts. “Hey. I didn’t catch your name.”

The drummer licked his lips. Smiling. Eyes sparkling. “It’s-“

“Mark!” someone shouted from across the room.

They both whipped their heads towards the direction of the voice. And approaching was a man, all sharp eyes and leather. It was the front man. He was still as fierce as Jinyoung remembered. That leather jacket widening his shoulders and his ears still rimmed with metal. Looking like every boy Jinyoung’s parents had always warned him about. And he wasn’t even much taller than Jinyoung, so why did he suddenly feel so small in his presence?

“Hey,” the singer said, clipped. Facing towards Mark. “We are sound checking. Come on.” His eyes flicked over to Jinyoung. He stopped, everything in him settling for a moment. “Who is this?”

And Jinyoung felt like crawling into a hole under his overwhelming scrutiny.

“This is Jinyoung,” Mark smirked, closing his strong arms over his muscled chest. “He’s the guy from Fluorescent Adolescents.”

The man scoffed, mouth drawing up on one side. “Oh, the little Ivy League boys who are playing are that poser French shit?” he sneered.

Jinyoung’s chest sank. And now he was sure that if he had a shovel, he would have started digging already. “Yeah,” he said, softly. Voice tucked back shyly in his throat. “That would be us.”

“Hmm,” the guy shrugged. “They are really running out of openers, huh? Next thing we know, they’ll be having the Wiggles warm up the crowd.”

And Jinyoung opened his mouth. Trying to will something to come out. And, usually, he had no shortage of witty quips but something about the front man’s sharp eyes drilling into him had every possible retort turning to ash in his mouth.

The man smirked in defiance when he saw that he’d be having the last word. “Mark,” he beckoned. “Come along. We need to sound check.”

“Yes, Jaebeom,” Mark sighed. He started to walk back behind the guitarist, but turned for a moment. “Jinyoung,” he whispered. “I’ll see you after the show, maybe?” He winked, tossing the Pikachu towards him.

Jinyoung caught it in both of his hands, watching as the drummer turned back, walking back to the stage to reconvene with his other members. And Jinyoung couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off his stupid face.

Jinyoung didn’t usually get nervous for shows. How could he? When any amount of acknowledgement for their futile attempt at a band was a hell of a lot more than Jinyoung thought they’d ever get. But this show. This had been the show that Jinyoung had been wanting from the very start. From the first time he ever crossed the tracks to come to this place. So, when Bambam brought a round of shots, saying they were courtesy of his connection at the bar, Jinyoung slammed his and Youngjae’s down instantaneously, not even asking what it was. And he wasn’t quite sure if it was his cursed, lightweight metabolism or the nerves that made everything feel like it was tilting on an axis.

“Flourishing Alcoholics,” the MC gathered them toward the side stage. “You’re in the wings.” 

“It’s Fluorescent Adolescents,” Bambam corrected.

“Same shit,” the MC scoffed. “Are you guys ready or what?”

Jinyoung looked back to his bandmates. He nodded. “We’re ready.”

“Break a leg, boys,” the MC smirked. “They’re a tough crowd. Don’t let them eat you alive.” He padded up the stage steps, grabbing the microphone from Jinyoung’s set up. “Good evening, everyone!” he called to the crowd. “Who is ready to see Brainstorm tonight?”

The crowd roared. And Jinyoung noticed it seemed to be twice as big as the last time he was here. And it made him realize how quickly the popularity of Mark’s band had been growing. 

“Alright,” the MC nodded. “Well, they are warming up backstage now. But, in the meantime, we’ve got a wonderful act for you guys. They might be newcomers, but they’ve already started to carve a place for themselves in the local scene. And tonight, is their Balaclava debut!”

The crowd cheered more politely. Raising their drinks before knocking them back in some weird ritual that Jinyoung hadn’t known about.

“Everyone, please give the Balaclava warm welcome to Fluorescent Adolescents!” he pointed to them emphatically.

The boys took the stage, Jinyoung taking the mic from the MC and resetting it in its stand. He cleared his throat. “Good evening, everyone,” he looked out into the sea of unenthused faces. “We are Fluorescent Adolescents. And we-” he felt the rush of those shots coagulating in his blood. “We are some little ivy league boys who are playing that poser French shit.”

There was a certain surge from the crowd that felt like a collective chuckle. And in the glare of the stage lights, Jinyoung could see a couple sets of teeth flashing back. And something about it eased his nerves slightly. He looked back to Youngjae, waiting for the countdown. And they were off.

They got through the set. Five songs. And somewhere between songs three and four, they felt the crowd getting closer, fuller, moving more. And it energized Jinyoung. Letting his singing break free. Putting a few growls into the starts of his phrases. Getting high off the rush. And at Youngjae’s synth solo, he turned back. Losing himself in the syncopated rhythm of the chords. As he watched Youngjae’s hands skirt over the keys, his eyes traveled up to that side stage. Seeing a black tank and a red bandana. Mark’s strong arms crossed over his frame and hips cocked to one side. Ink showing through against the press of his ribs. And even in the light, Jinyoung could see the workings of smirk against his lips. The slight sway of his hips in time.

And he nearly missed his cue to come in again, rushing back up towards the mic and the words coming out so breathy that they burned in his throat, coming out high and whimpering. Which seemed to warrant a ‘woop’ from someone in the crowd that only encouraged Jinyoung to incorporate it more. 

And when they took their final bow, Jinyoung flicked his eyes back to that side stage. Mark’s tight frame now entirely blocked by the front man. His pointed eyes still as dark and fierce as ever. His face still wearing that same stark irritation but somehow heightened now as it shot daggers in Jinyoung’s direction.

But Jinyoung, high on the stage, didn’t feel like cowering anymore. So, as he came down the steps, he bumped the man’s wide shoulder. “Warmed them up for you, big guy,” he flicked his eyebrows at him, continuing to walk. He caught Mark’s bright eyes. “Good luck,” he smiled.

Brainstorm did their set. A few new songs since the last time Jinyoung had heard them. And Jinyoung and his members watched from the side stage. 

“Aren’t they good?” Bambam screamed to Youngjae over the sound.

“Hey,” Youngjae crossed his arms over his chest. “We’re good, too!”

“Not like that,” Bambam shook his head. “That front man is something else, isn’t he? God. He’s so hot.”

And Jinyoung watched that arrogant prick unfolding himself on stage. Basking in the attention of the audience that seemed to move at his beck and call. “He’s okay,” Jinyoung shrugged.

By the time Brainstorm was done, Jinyoung was primed and ready to work his plan into motion. He hung out by the bar, sending Bambam and Youngjae away, and when Mark inevitably came up, glistening beautifully in the low light, asking the bartender for a drink, Jinyoung pounced. “Here,” he stopped him, interjecting himself. “Let me cover it. A thank you for my Pikachu.”

Mark turned to him. Sizing him up quickly before nodding. “Okay,” he said.

“What do you want?” Jinyoung asked.

“If I’m not paying?” Mark laughed. “Whiskey highball.”

“Whiskey highball it is,” Jinyoung ordered two for both of them, handing over his card and opening a tab. They waited as they watched them being made. Shoulder to shoulder. Close enough that Jinyoung could still feel the heat coming off him from his set.

Mark leaned in first. “You guys played well,” he said into his ear.

“You too,” Jinyoung nodded. “Though that’s what I’d expect from our hometown heroes.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “If we are this town’s heroes, that doesn’t say much about this town.”

Jinyoung laughed. “Maybe not,” he agreed.

The bartender delivered their drinks. Jinyoung held his up. “Cheers, then. To this hopeless town. Here’s to the hope that we escape it one day.”

“Amen,” Mark clinked glasses with him. 

They both took long sips, Jinyoung sputtering when it hit his throat. He choked down the burning sensation, coughing into his hand.

Mark swallowed, barely wincing. “Too much for you, Jinyoung?” he grinned, pointed.

Jinyoung looked back, feeling the constricting of his chest from more than just the burn of the alcohol. “I can handle it.”

The drummer smiled wide, looking down into his own glass before looking back up. “So,” he said. “You guys are all students then?”

“Yeah,” Jinyoung pointed out towards Bam and Youngjae who were talking to a few audience members across the room. “Youngjae is our virtuoso, a music major. And Bambam is our fashionista, a design major.”

“And you?” Mark sipped his drink, seeming nonchalant.

“Me?” Jinyoung raised his brows. “I study journalism. And when I’m not doing that, I guess I write lyrics.”

Mark smiled, clearing his throat. "Shaking up reality and illusion in my snowglobe head until they blend seamlessly into your perfect storm."

Jinyoung looked up at the way Mark was saying the words. His mind rushing.

The boy looked back at him. His eyes wide like he was wondering if Jinyoung was placing them. He hummed out a little melody. He laughed. “From your song, right?”

Jinyoung stared back. “We didn’t play that one tonight.”

Mark licked his lips, his ears turning red quickly. A little exasperated breath left his smile. “Busted.” He took another sip of his drink.

Jinyoung joined him, still grimacing at the burn but needing a distraction. Cause there was no way this was going as well as it was. He tried to busy himself, looking out across the room momentarily. And his gaze suddenly locked on a set of eyes piercing through him. The front man’s beer bottle perched at his lips. Not talking to anyone. Just watching, not breaking his eye contact.

Jinyoung felt a rush of nerves but he just took another sip to quell them. “Hey,” he put his mouth to Mark’s ear to be heard. “You and your front man. What’s his name?”

“Jaebeom,” Mark nodded. “What about him?” his voice a little quick. A little too nervous at the mention of him.

“Are you guys…” Jinyoung’s voice trailed off.

Mark stared back a moment. Not catching on. But then his face twisted up. “Oh no,” he shook his head. “No. He’s like my oldest friend.”

Jinyoung looked up into his face, raising his eyebrows suddenly. Hinting without saying a word.

“I mean, it’s not really…” Mark’s eyes losing their focus, going distant on Jinyoung’s face. “I mean,” he hesitated. Sighing. “It’s complicated.”

And it hit Jinyoung hard. Knowing that he was an idiot for not seeing it immediately. The way Jaebeom’s eyes had followed Mark. The way he called for him. Like a little pet. Nothing friendly in it but instead something venomously possessive.

“But it’s not…” Mark struggled to find the words. “We aren’t …exclusive or anything. It’s just… friends. You know?”

And the way he was saying it was giving Jinyoung this stupid, miniscule dot of hope that he really shouldn’t have held onto, but it had been six months of dreaming about this boy and he finally had his attention and it was too much for him to just give up now.

“Yeah,” Jinyoung nodded. “Totally. I get it.” Though he didn’t get it at all.

Mark stared back. His chest filling with a breath. “Hey,” he started. “Do you wanna..” he licked his lips. “I could show you around backstage maybe. I don’t know if you’ve been back there much.”

Jinyoung felt hot all over. Everything in him going from buzzed to flushed. He put his glass to his lips, downing the rest in one go and slamming it down on the bar. He wiped his mouth with his hand. “Show me.”

Mark smiled brightly. He reached out, grabbing his wrist. Pulling him off his stool and guiding him back towards the door, weaving through the delirious crowd.

And Jinyoung wondered if Mark could feel his quick pulse against his long, pretty fingers. Watching the back of him as he was led. Planning exactly which part of Mark’s neck he wanted to put his lips on first. Feeling the desire to do it ache through him, feeling absolutely unbearable.

“Mark!” a voice shouted over the noise.

They both turned.

Jaebeom was there. His chin drawn forward in a scowl. His eyes flicking down to Mark’s fingers against Jinyoung’s wrist. He ran his tongue against his teeth. “We’re heading out,” he said. 

“Okay,” Mark nodded. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

“No,” Jaebeom said. “All of us. Come on.”

And Mark stared back. Something challenging in his eyes. And Jinyoung felt like a bystander to something that he didn’t ask to be a part of. Something he didn’t know enough to understand. He watched as they shared looks back and forth. Both unyielding. Silently communicating in a way only capable by old friends. Or old …whatever they were.

Jinyoung watched as Mark’s face broke. Conceding. The boy sighed, turning back towards him. “I gotta go,” he said quietly. “Will I see you around?”

And even without his lips on his neck, the suggestion of seeing each other again made him feel too much. “Yeah,” Jinyoung nodded. “You’ll see me.” Knowing he’d do anything to make it happen.

Mark smiled. Something a little sad in it. “Get home safe, Jinyoung,” he squeezed his wrist before letting it go. Waving as he followed Jaebeom back through the crowd. 

Leaving Jinyoung drunk and lonely and tying himself to those tracks like there was no going back.

\---

**“He knew what he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how to word it.”**

Jinyoung spent the next week moping around their apartment. Unencumbered by classes but undistracted from the Mark shaped hole left in his life.

“God, I hope we get booked soon,” Bambam said one day. “So that Jinyoung can finally have something to do other than wear that face?”

“What face?” Jinyoung looked back at him.

“That one,” Youngjae pointed at him. “Like someone kicked your puppy.”

Jinyoung stared back at them flatly.

The call came sometime on Wednesday. And it was the offer that Jinyoung had been hoping for. The owner said that they had a really good response from patrons. Wondered if they would be willing to sign on for their summer series. A show once a week. Opening for Brainstorm. And in a few weeks, a local music festival sponsored by the radio station.

Jinyoung accepted on the spot. Didn’t even consult Youngjae and Bambam, though luckily, they’d been enthused by the positive feedback.

“They like my songs?” Youngjae had asked when Jinyoung broke the news.

“They love your songs. They kept saying there is nothing on the local scene that sounds like them,” he stretched the truth a little just to bolster Youngjae up. “And Bam,” he sighed. “They love your… look. They said they had to protect your contact information from all the people trying to get your number.”

“I mean,” Bambam shrugged his shoulders. “Let’s be real. Everyone knows the bass player is the sexiest member.”

“So,” Jinyoung clapped his hands, sitting down across from them. “We got to bring our A game this week. I’m thinking we get a new song together. And Bam, maybe you can work on some new outfits for us?”

“I already have a vision,” Bambam touched his third eye before pointing back at him. “And you’re going to fucking love it.”

It turns out Bambam had wanted to play off the introduction Jinyoung had given them last week. Putting all of them in prep school uniforms. Royal blue blazers and matching slacks. Striped ties around their white collars. He even hand designed a crest especially for the band.

“You sure this doesn’t look gimmicky,” Youngjae adjusted the round glasses he paired with his outfit, looking himself over in the mirror as Bambam adjusted the hem on his slacks.

“Who doesn’t love a gimmick?” Bambam said around a mouthful of pins.

“Just let him have fun,” Jinyoung shrugged, from his place on the couch. His notebook in his lap. “And when you are done, we are hammering out the last bits of this song.”

“Another love song?” Youngjae sighed. “At least be a little more adventurous.”

“Yeah, who are you writing all these songs about?” Bambam looked back at him. “Is there something that we don’t know?”

“Wow,” Jinyoung scoffed. “I’m sorry. I came here to write songs that people like, not get attacked by my own bandmates. And since when did love songs become passé?”

“Since using the word passé became passé,” Youngjae rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying. You could push yourself outside of your comfort zone maybe.”

Jinyoung stared back. He slowly ripped the piece of paper from the spiral edge of his notebook, crumpling it between his fingers, and casting it aside. “Fine,” he brought his pen down. “Something different.”

After their soundcheck, they changed into their outfits in the sticky bathroom of the bar. The lights above had been replaced with magenta bulbs, giving the whole room an electric glow. Youngjae and Bambam had already finished up while Jinyoung was left behind, tying his tie in the mirror. He almost had it right when the door kicked open. Jinyoung looked up in the mirror, meeting Mark’s eyes.

“Oh,” Mark raised his eyebrows. “All three of you are doing it then.”

Jinyoung shrugged, pushing the knot up his neck. “It was Bambam’s design,” he shrugged, turning towards him. “Why? You don’t like it?” he brushed off the sleeves, quirking a brow.

“I didn’t say that,” Mark laughed, shaking his head. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking Jinyoung up and down. “You look...” he licked his lips. “Smart.”

Jinyoung huffed. “You can just tell me I look good, Mark.”

“Fine,” Mark narrowed his eyes but couldn’t stop the smile growing against his pointed mouth. “You look good.”

Jinyoung felt the dangerous prick of encouragement run up his spine. He smirked. “Don’t let your boyfriend hear you say that.”

Mark scoffed loud, strong arms flexing as he hoisted himself on the edge of the bathroom counter. “Like I told you before,” he said. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Jinyoung looked up at him, seeing him hazed in the pink light of the bathroom. Making the orange of his t-shirt look neon. A beacon that Jinyoung couldn’t help but be drawn into like a fly towards the light. “You’re right. He’s more like a guard dog,” Jinyoung looked behind him, as if to make sure Jaebeom couldn’t overhear.

“He’s just...” Mark started, trying to find the words. “Loyalty is important to him.”

“And I’m the opposition.”

Mark scratched the back of his head. The sleeve of his t-shirt falling away to show off a few tattoos on his arm. “I mean. Yeah, kinda,” he laughed.

Jinyoung raked his eyes over him. Looking at the tattoos that he wanted to trace over with his— “Why?” he asked. “Why me in particular?”

Mark looked down to his feet as he started to kick them in the air. Maybe a little shy. Maybe just trying to find the right words. He held his mouth held open for a fraction of a second. Before he closed it and tried again. “Because there has to be opposition. If not, what’s he screaming on stage for?” he shrugged.

And it didn’t feel like the answer Mark initially wanted to say but Jinyoung didn’t know him well enough to push him on it.

“Why do you do it then?” Jinyoung asked.

Mark looked back at him. “Do what?”

Jinyoung smirked. “I mean if Jaebeom is doing it to fight off the prep school posers like me, why are you getting up on that stage for a living?”

Mark furrowed his brows. His eyes averting downward. Swallowing. “I’m not smart. And I’m not in school. And I don’t have my parent’s money,” he said, honestly. “I’m just looking to make it the only way I know how. By getting angry and hitting something.”

“Surely, that isn’t the only way,” Jinyoung said, softly, moving a little closer to him.

Mark nodded. “For people like me, it is.” He took a deep breath. Seeming to think about it for a moment too long before shaking himself. “What about you?” he asked. “Why do you do this?”

Jinyoung smiled. He slotted himself between Mark’s thighs, looking up at him. “To be closer to you.”

Mark’s eyes blinked back. “Jinyoung,” he laughed, and it was breathy and beautiful. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s not a joke,” Jinyoung beamed.

And Mark looked back at him. Holding a smile in his sparkling eyes. His hand went to the side of Jinyoung’s neck, drawing them closer and closer until-

The bathroom door banged.

They jumped apart from each other.

“Mark!” Jaebeom’s voice bounced off the concrete walls of the hallway outside. “Are you almost done? We have to warm up.”

“Yeah. I’m coming. Gimme a minute!” Mark yelled back. He looked back to Jinyoung. “I got to go,” he slid himself off the counter, landing on the soles of his high tops. “Have a good show, Jinyoung.” He reached for the door.

Jinyoung grabbed his wrist, tightly, watching how he turned back. Meeting his eyes. The smiles gone from both of their faces. “You’re not his. You know that, right?”

Mark’s eyes darkened. He tried to pull his wrist away, struggling in Jinyoung’s grasp. “Tell him that,” he gritted through his teeth.

Jinyoung felt the words like a challenge, making everything in him buzz. “I will,” he started to reach for the door.

Mark beat him to it. “No,” he rushed. “Stop.” He pushed Jinyoung’s shoulders back, looking behind him towards the door, listening for anyone on the other side. When there was nothing but silence, he looked back at him. Sighing exasperated. His voice low. “Just play the show. And stay out of trouble.” And he slipped back into the hallway.

The trio played their set. Feeling noticeably more noise from the crowd members that seemed to recognize them from before. They got to the last song. 

“You’ve all been, once again, really great tonight,” Jinyoung said into the mic. “And we wanted to thank you by playing you a new song.” He licked his lips. “Do you all ever have that feeling where you see something, and you want it more than anything, but there’s always someone blocking you from getting it? Pulling it just out of reach?”

A few whoops resounded from near the bar.

“And you know you should stop, but that ...opposition,” he smirked, “...it just kinda makes you want it more.” A few cheers from the crowd. “Yeah, well. Fuck them. This one’s about that.”

Jinyoung’s guitar rang out the intro chords, looking back to his members. His eyes flashing to that side stage. And just beyond where the lights could reach, he saw that black outline of wide shoulders staring back. And though he couldn’t make out the face, he didn’t need to. Sending a quick wink before starting to sing.

The songs played out, Jinyoung’s last chord ringing. And he bowed to the crowd before taking off his guitar and setting it back in its stand. Just like last time, he felt that same rush thrumming through him as he looked out over that crowd. Seeing their smiling faces and their lifted drinks cheering him on. And that sense of shameless confidence was just as misguided as last time. He bounded down the steps, passing by three of the Brainstorm members. But he didn’t see Mark among them. He turned his head, looking around for him. Until he saw the streak of fluorescent white light escaping from the backstage door. And everything seemed to slow down.

Jinyoung looked back, making sure Jaebeom was occupied with getting out on stage and throwing his guitar strap over his head. As he turned back, he saw Mark coming out of the door, stretching his neck out, sticks in hand.

Mark’s eyes got wide as they met Jinyoung’s, stopping in his tracks. And after a moment of quiet hesitation, the drummer’s eyes flicked up towards the stage. As if he was having the same exact thought.

Jinyoung felt that kick drum in his chest up the tempo. He rushed forward, pushing the boy’s shoulders hard, back through the open door. Going from the darkness of the club to the brightness of that hallway. He let the door slam behind them before Jinyoung turned them, pressing Mark up against it. Pinning him down with his hips, caging him in with his forearms. He hovered there for a moment, looking into Mark’s eyes. Reading him.

But the black of the drummer’s eyes didn’t hold a hint of surprise anymore. Just sureness as they sparkled back under the white fluorescent lights. His hands going up to Jinyoung’s face, drawing him in and crashing their mouths together. The echo of wooden sticks dropping against the cement.

And Jinyoung’s heart lurched in his chest as he kissed him hard, feeling Mark’s hands smooth down to his chest. 

Mark wrapped the tie around his knuckles, using it to draw him in even tighter.

Jinyoung rutted up against him, feeling the wide smile of his mouth and licking into it. Running his tongue against seemingly every sharp tooth behind his lips.

“I gotta play,” Mark gasped, in between kisses.

“You sure?” Jinyoung purred.

“Yeah,” Mark huffed against his lips. “Let me leave first.”

Jinyoung furrowed his brows together, deepening the angle as the race of his heart kept accelerating. “Why?” he breathed.

Mark arched his back up off the door, drawing their hips closer together with a small whimper. “I just,” he sighed, a little frustrated. “I don’t want them to see.”

“Well, I do,” Jinyoung pressed back, feeling the brush of their half-hard bulges in their tight pants. “I want them to see.”

“Jinyoung,” Mark growled, biting down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood.

Jinyoung winced, but didn’t stop, letting the taste of the blood mix between them. “You don’t want them to see?” he panted. “Or you don’t want him to see?”

Mark pulled back, looking deep in his eyes. Something fearful being held in them. His mouth going small. His skin losing its golden hue under the lights.

Jinyoung shook his head. “I don’t fucking get it,” he whispered.

Mark twisted the tie around his knuckles once more, drawing him in for another kiss. Nothing hostile in this one. Just soft. He pulled away. Eyes dulled of their sparkle. “You don’t have to get it,” Mark sighed. “Just stay out of his eyeline.” He unfurled his hands from the fabric, reaching behind him and slipping back out the door to do his set.


	2. Act II

**“Are you pulling her from a burning building or throwing her to the sharks?”**

Another week went by. Another outfit change from Bambam. This time it was fitted khakis and button downs with navy blue sweaters. Youngjae relishing the opportunity to wear a beret. But between songs, Jinyoung looked to the side stage to see Mark’s arms folded across his chest, sticks in one hand. His sparkling eyes and twisted smirk. And it burned through Jinyoung to the point where he had to pull off his sweater to a chorus of hollers from the crowd.

“You flatter me,” Jinyoung huffed into the mic as he rolled his sleeves up his arms, peeking again to see Mark’s white pointed smile flashing back.

They finished their set. And sometime, after both bands had played, Jinyoung was leaning up against the bar with his eyes across the room. Watching the way Jaebeom’s arm was slung around Mark’s tight waist, his nose pressed up behind his ear. Speaking into it with a lopsided smirk pulled tight against his mouth. Mark’s own grin shyly looking towards the ground.

“What are you drinking?”

Jinyoung ripped his eyes away, turning to the bartender. “I’ll have whatever,” he called over the noise.

The bartender started pouring something clear for him. Was it gin? Vodka? Tequila? Jinyoung didn’t know anything about alcohol. And in this moment, he didn’t care either. He just accepted the glass, guzzling it down. He screwed his face. Hating it. Hating everything. He went to put his drink down but stopped when he saw the napkin the bartender had tossed him. Red letters written across it in pen.

_Meet me near the kitchen - M_

Jinyoung looked up to the bartender who just shrugged his shoulders and continued down the line taking orders.

Jinyoung drained the rest of the glass, putting the napkin in his pocket and getting up. Watching as Mark spotted him from across the room. The way he leaned into Jaebeom to say something before getting up.

The door to the kitchen was near the restrooms. Jinyoung only waited for a moment before Mark was rounding the corner, grabbing his arm and pulling him through the doorway. He let himself be dragged, past the lines of storage and the averted eyes of the busboys.

Mark pulled him to the back, tossing open the metal door of the walk-in freezer and dragging Jinyoung through it before letting it slam, pushing him up against the shelves. And even through his button down and his khakis, he could feel how frigid it was. The air almost looking slightly opaque. Shelves of stored alcohol, mixers, and ice around them.

Jinyoung felt himself shiver against the cold metal before immediately welcoming the warm press of Mark’s body on his. The drummer’s hands combing through his hair. Drawing both of them into each other until their mouths met. Turning aggressive immediately. Biting and licking and whining into it. Jinyoung feeling that drink hit in a way that made his head spin.

“God,” Jinyoung hissed. “He won’t let you out of his sight.”

“I know,” Mark pulled away, a sigh escaping his mouth like smoke. Eyebrows creasing together in frustration. “It’s… not ideal.”

Jinyoung looked at him. “Why is he like that?”

Mark licked his lips. “He’s always been like that. Ever since I met him.”

Jinyoung shuddered from the cold, clutching Mark tighter in his arms. “When was that?”

Mark’s long fingers trailed down his neck, landing somewhere on Jinyoung’s chest. Hyper-focusing on a button near his collar. “High school,” he said. “That’s when it started. You know how kids are,” he shrugged. “Sneaking around and such. And I liked it. I liked the attention. And how he’d make me feel. He was different than anything I’d known before. And … quite insistent.”

“Mmm,” Jinyoung hummed, leaning in to kiss at the shell of his ear. “Maybe you have a type.” 

Mark huffed. “Yeah, maybe.” But by the time Jinyoung’s face had pulled back to look at him, he already seemed to slip back into that memory, hardening again. “But if anyone else showed interest in me, he’d be like that. He just....” he trailed off, losing the words.

“He wants you all to himself.”

“Yeah,” Mark nodded, looking back at him. “Are you any different?”

And Jinyoung wasn’t quite sure if he was being serious or not. So, he didn’t answer, just taking in a deep, chilled breath and speaking again. “What happened? Since then.”

Mark shrugged. “I mean, what always happens to small town kids who don’t know any better. They get older. And they want more.”

Jinyoung raised his eyebrows. “Am I more?”

Mark licked his lips. “More something,” he said, softly. “I’m not quite sure what yet.”

Jinyoung smirked. Feeling the heat in him radiate despite the setting. “Hey,” he reached out, putting a hand behind his neck to focus his attention. “I want to see you. And not just in these fleeting moments when his head is turned.”

Mark twisted his mouth. “That’s not easy.”

“Why?”

“I live with the band,” Mark shook his head. “I can’t just disappear.”

Jinyoung thought. “He doesn’t ever leave?”

Mark looked away for a moment, thinking. “Well,” he tilted his head. “He meets with people sometimes. Signs contracts for gigs and such.”

“Then, here.” Jinyoung dove his fingers behind Mark, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. He swiped it open, typing in his number and handing it over. “When he’s out on business, I can come find you. I’ll pick you up.”

Mark took the phone, looking at the number across the screen with furrowed his brows. “I don’t know, Jinyoung,” he sighed.

“It’s harmless fun,” Jinyoung offered, hands moving up his sides.

“It’s really not.”

Jinyoung looked in his eyes, trying to read him. Seeing something hidden there. Something unreachable. “What’s he got over you? Why do you have to sneak around behind his back as if you’re doing something wrong?” he shook his head. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Mark looked back at him. Pausing too long. “Just kiss me,” he whispered. “Please.”

And it wasn’t an answer. But it was clear that Jinyoung wasn’t getting any more out of him. So, he pulled Mark in, kissing him like he requested. Not like before. Not eager and immediate. But soft and sensual. He took his time. Feeling the brush of their noses and the way they filled up each other’s spaces. And Jinyoung was reminded of that storm that the drummer had kicked up in his mind, flooding him and dragging away any sense with it.

Mark pulled his face away. “We better stop,” he smiled. “Before…” his words going unsaid.

And Jinyoung wanted to shake him and ask. Before what? Before Jaebeom notices they’re gone? Before they fuck each other in a freezer? What was the suggestion there? But instead, he just sighed and nodded, “I’ll go first.” He kissed him once more before going. He walked himself out of the kitchen. His mind so far away that as he rounded the corner, he walked straight into someone. He started to apologize before looking up. Seeing a shaggy black mullet and ornamented ears and sharp eyes glaring at him.

“Nice outfit, Jinyoung,” Jaebeom grabbed for the collar of his shirt, yanking him closer. “Your maid make it?”

“Cute,” Jinyoung smiled at him. “The meat head thinks calling me rich is an insult.”

Jaebeom sneered, pulling his collar tighter. “At least I didn’t buy my way onto the stage.”

“Ouch,” Jinyoung hissed, feigning hurt. “And to think, I was going to suggest you wash my BMW for extra cash. I throw in a tip if you take off your shirt.” He winked, batting Jaebeom’s hand away.

Jaebeom didn’t hesitate grabbing his arm instead, glaring back at him with fiery eyes. “Hey,” he yanked him, pausing for a moment. Looking down at his arm. 

And Jinyoung could feel the heat of his fingertips pressing down into his chilled skin with bruising strength. He managed to keep the wince off his face.

Jaebeom took a quick breath, bringing his face close enough to hiss out his words. “Just cause your little after school project is getting a hint of attention doesn’t mean you can talk to me like that. Remember who came before you, punk. Or you won’t have a stage for much longer.” He threw his arm away, eyes burning holes into him.

Jinyoung stared back. Hearing the threat in his voice. Wondering if he really had that kind of power. To kick them out of the Balaclava. Jinyoung didn’t want to find out. He fixed his shirt, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Have a good night, Jaebeom,” he said, placidly. He started to cross the room, thinking that another drink was in order, before feeling a touch at his shoulder.

“There you are,” Bambam slipped between the crowd. “Are you ready to go? Youngjae’s exhausted.”

Jinyoung looked across the room, watching Mark rejoin Jaebeom. The front man’s hand smoothed up his bare arm, something about it furrowing the brows on his sharp face. He looked up, finding Jinyoung’s eyes across the room.

“Yeah,” Jinyoung said, his fingers feeling at that napkin in his pocket. “I think I’ve caused enough trouble tonight.”

\---

  


**“And those dreams weren't as daft as they seem, my love, when you dream them up.”**

Four days of radio silence. And then Jinyoung was lying on his bed, strumming a song out that only reminded him of Mark when he got a call from an unknown number that had him falling off the bed as he reached for it on the bedside table. He fell to the floor with a thud, swiping and holding the phone to his ear, “Hello?” He held his breath as he looked up toward the ceiling.

“You better hurry,” said the familiar voice on the other side. “I’m sending the address now.” A click ended the call.

Jinyoung hurried. Getting himself presentable and clamoring into his car to drive across the tracks to the address Mark sent him.

He pulled the nose of his sunglasses down to look as he pulled up to the apartment building. It was old. Something out of the eighties. Red brick that had faded gray in the sun. Dusty looking air conditioning units in the windows. Aluminum blinds kinked and bent.

Mark came out the front door, running and pulling open the passenger side and climbing in. “Go. Before Jackson or Yugyeom see,” he rushed.

Jinyoung nearly floored it, pulling out of the complex and back down the main road. “How much time we got?” he said, flicking his eyes over at him.

Mark shrugged. “Three hours or so?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Where do you want to take me?”

“Everywhere,” Jinyoung beamed at him.

Mark smiled, rolling his eyes. He pointed out the windshield. “Turn here.”

“Here?”

“Yeah, here,” he nodded.

They continued onwards, Mark calling out directions. Watching as the buildings got sparser. The stretches of land got bigger. Moving out of town until Mark had him turning into what looked like a large park. 

“Just drive up the lawn,” he said.

Jinyoung followed his directions veering off the path and onto the grass, working steadily up an empty green slope. When they got to the top, peaking over the edge. Jinyoung could see why Mark had brought them here. Stretched out below was a massive, vacant amphitheater. Thousands of stadium seats fanned out around a bare stage. A tall roof overhead to block out the elements.

They parked on the lawn, Mark leading the way. They started to descend down the aisle stairs toward the stage. Mark’s steps were light as he skipped down. He called behind his shoulder. “Have you ever been here?”

“No,” Jinyoung looked up at the tall structure that hung over their heads. “Have you?”

Mark turned back, walking down the stairs backwards. Practiced, like he’d done it a million times before and knew exactly the distance between the steps to avoid tripping. “This was the first venue I ever saw a show at,” he smiled. “My family used to come here. It looked even bigger when I was younger.”

Jinyoung smiled. Fondly imagining a young Mark with wide sparkling eyes reflecting the bright lights of the stage with newfound astonishment. “What was your first show here?”

The boy smirked. Licking his lips. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Skipping with quickness and lightness. 

Jinyoung ran his hand against the metal railing as he followed down the steps, trying to keep up. “Try me,” his voice bouncing along with him.

Mark neared the bottom, jumping down the last two steps and landing on the concrete floor in front of the stage. He looked up. Not smiling as broadly now. Like he was more focused on gauging Jinyoung’s reaction. “The New York Philharmonic.”

Jinyoung stopped in his tracks. Because it contrasted every image of Mark in Jinyoung’s head. This boy from the wrong side of the tracks. With a habit of hitting hard. With a weakness for persistent men. “Really?”

Mark just shrugged. Not confirming or denying. Instead he turned, looking up at the stage.

Jinyoung bounded down the last few steps, coming to stand next to him. Watching his face.

Mark’s eyes sparkled. He swallowed. “I want to headline this place someday.”

Jinyoung grimaced, “Why this place?” Thinking that New York or London or Tokyo would be a much higher accomplishment.

“Just to prove to everyone that I can.” 

And the boy’s words held something bitter that Jinyoung couldn’t place. And he wanted to ask. But he was aware of the ticking clock they were up against.

“Come on then,” he called, rushing up to the stage and leveraging himself up onto it. He leaned forward, extending his hand in Mark’s direction. “Give me your hand.”

Mark looked up at him, his mouth breaking out into a breathtaking smile before he reached out. He grabbed Jinyoung’s hand, letting himself be pulled up.

Jinyoung grabbed his hips. He dragged him across the stage. “You’ll be…” he pulled him towards the back of the stage. Centering him. “About here.” He let him go. “And I’ll…,” he dashed over to the side stage. “Be here.” He started to jump, mock howling and clapping. Hearing the way it echoed through the amphitheater’s acoustics. “Go Mark!” he cheered, raising his fists over his head.

Mark giggled. “Stop,” he smiled. Jogging over and grabbing his wrists to pull them down. “God. How are you so lame?”

Jinyoung laughed, stilling as Mark came close. Those long, beautiful fingers were wrapped around his wrists again. But this time, Jinyoung hoped he could feel the pulse kick up like a back beat. They both settled down to nothing. Smiles contained for only each other, small enough that the proximity was the only reason they could see them. They stared.

“You don’t want to be here?” Mark asked, softly.

Jinyoung furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, on this stage. Performing. You don’t want that, too?”

“No,” Jinyoung shook his head. “That’s not me. I’m not meant to do this.”

Mark looked back at him. Something behind his eyes going distant before they clicked in realization. “You were serious,” he said. “You only do it for me.”

Jinyoung smiled, the faint sensation of nerves dripping down him. “Well, yeah,” he shrugged. Feeling self-conscious under Mark’s intent gaze.

Mark scoffed. “You’re such an idiot,” he whispered, shaking his head. He brushed past him, walking further off stage.

Jinyoung laughed a little, turning to chase after him. “Wait,” he grabbed for his wrist. “Are you really mad?”

Mark spun, yanking his wrist away. “A little,” he huffed. He shook his head. “I work my whole life for this. And you just start up a band on a whim cause you want to get into someone’s pants.”

“Well,” Jinyoung went blank. “I mean. When you say it like that…”

Mark worked his tongue into the inside of his cheek. “Come on.”

Jinyoung paused, watching as Mark turned again walking onwards. He pushed through the double doors towards what Jinyoung could only assume was backstage. They swung shut behind him. Jinyoung took a deep breath. Rushing after him. “Mark-,” he called but when he leaned himself through the double doors, there was no trace of him. Nothing but another long hallway.

Jinyoung sighed, shuffling down the hallway and jostling the knobs of random doors but they kept coming up locked. He groaned but kept trying and it wasn’t until the sixth one that he finally felt it give. He pushed it open, looking in and seeing a waiting room. Vanities at one wall and a couch at the other. Chairs and a coffee table somewhere in between. Mark sitting in the center of the couch, his arms stretched wide across the back of it.

“There you are,” Jinyoung sighed. “Look. I-“

“Tell me then,” Mark stopped him, sitting forward and leaning his arms onto his knees. Looking up at him, deathly serious. “After I headline the show. After I play my set. After we come back here. Then what?” His eyes heavy with the weight of suggestion.

Jinyoung felt the air leave his chest. Everything in him stilling except that back beat in his veins that switched into double time. He stood there, feeling Mark’s eyes raking up him. Making him flush up to his ears.

He swallowed. Trying to keep his voice from shaking when he spoke. “You played well tonight.”

“Yeah?” Mark said, eyes unblinking. He reached behind his head, pulling his t-shirt off in one fluid motion. His torso all tight cuts and black ink. Rippling lean muscle from all the nights of playing drums. Radiant skin in the fluorescent light.

Jinyoung’s eyes took it all in greedily. Feeling that same unbearable ache as the first night they spoke but without the prompting of liquor this time. He trailed his eyes back to Mark’s face.

The boy’s mouth was pulled up at the corner, barely flashing the glinting white of a canine in his direction. Dark eyes sparkling. “Show me how well I played.” 

Jinyoung didn’t need any further invitation. He came forward, knees going to either side of Mark’s lap. His hands combing into Mark’s hair and pulling him closer until their mouths met. Biting into his top lip and tugging it open just to slide his tongue along those teeth.

Mark opened his mouth to slide their tongues together, putting his hands to Jinyoung’s hips and pulling them down into his lap. Rocking up into him.

Jinyoung’s hands trailed down his chest as he kissed him, feeling over every muscle. His fingers brushing up against that tattoo on his ribs and feeling a couple small edges where the scar tissue was raised. Wanting to spend a lifetime tracing it over and over again. He kissed against his jaw, lips slipping down into the skin along his long neck.

“You look so good when you play,” Jinyoung murmured, feeling the rise and fall of Mark’s bare chest under his fingers.

“Tell me,” Mark gritted out through his teeth, head craned away from the touch of Jinyoung’s mouth.

Jinyoung hissed into the skin. “Your arms all tight and your lip between your teeth,” he grinded his hips down. “God, it makes me so jealous.”

Mark groaned, hips kicking up to meet Jinyoung’s. “Why’s it make you jealous?”

Jinyoung’s hand slipped behind Mark’s neck, fingers closing in around the bend of his nape. His lips went up to his ear. “Because I wanna be the reason your muscles tighten,” he whispered, viciously. “I wanna be the reason you bite your lip. I wanna be the sweat on your chest. I wanna be the pulse in your veins.”

“Yeah?” Mark pushed him away, looking back at him. Eyes blackened and challenging. “What’s stopping you?”

Jinyoung felt it everywhere. His mouth falling open almost as if the way Mark was simply looking at him could warrant a moan. But he held it back in his throat. Raising himself up just to slot his knees onto the carpet between Mark’s high tops. Feeling the sharp burn of it through his pants. His hands and his eyes tracing over those cuts in Mark’s torso before landing in his lap. One hand rubbing into the bulge of his ripped jeans while the other one toyed with the button.

Mark’s hips edged forward, rocking into Jinyoung’s hand. His gaze focused on the movement, his eyebrows drawn together.

Jinyoung undid the button, slowly drawing the zipper down and feeling how it sloped over his hard cock. He dipped his fingers into the waistband of his underwear, wrapping around the base and tugging upwards gently.

“Fuck, Jinyoung,” Mark hissed, his hands moving to the sides of his jeans and pushing his clothing down towards the floor. When they were around his ankles, he grabbed the back of Jinyoung’s neck, drawing him in until his mouth was pressed up against his cock.

Jinyoung smiled, lips kissing it against it. Moving up the shaft and tightening his fingers at the base when he began to swirl his tongue around the head. Watching the way Mark looked down at him, features tight against his face. Jinyoung put him into his mouth, feeling the weight of his cock on his tongue. Sliding down slowly until his mouth met his hand, saliva slipping between his fingers until he could glide them across with little friction. He felt the grip of Mark’s hand on his nape as he moved, tightening slightly. Guiding him down.

Jinyoung moved his fingers in tandem, wrist rotating. Taking him deep in his mouth and feeling the way his thighs quivered harder the farther he went. 

“Fuck, that’s good,” Mark moaned. He put his knuckle between his teeth, biting down until the skin was white.

Jinyoung didn’t respond, just increased his pace. Cheeks going hollow as he moved against him. Relishing his taste and his smell and the sound of his shaky exhales. Even better than he could have imagined on those nights when he told himself that the broken callouses on his fingers would be worth it. Because they were more than worth it.

He felt Mark’s hand tighten, bruising strength pressing into the skin as he drew him in again and again. Setting a demanding pace with all the precision of a drummer. And Jinyoung just let go, letting himself be manhandled, used. The thought having him whimper around Mark’s cock.

“Fuck,” Mark cursed. “Oh god.” Eyes screwing shut and head thrown back against the couch. Hips bucking up and neck slightly dewed with a hint of sweat. He pulled Jinyoung in, once, twice, three times before moaning loud and releasing into his throat.

Jinyoung swallowed it, eyes slightly bleary. Taking in the image of Mark’s climax through a coat of gloss that he tried to blink away. Clearing it as he committed the sight to memory. Pulling off of him just to rest his cheek against his thigh so he could continue staring up at him. Watching the rise and fall of his chest. The way his hands combed into his hair, stretching the skin against his torso.

Mark looked down at him. Eyes sparkling, mouth smirking. “What?” he asked.

Jinyoung sighed. “You’re just kinda beautiful, you know that?”

Mark smiled. “Kinda?”

Jinyoung shrugged. “Kinda.”

Mark huffed. “Come here,” he grabbed Jinyoung by the front of his shirt. Pulling him up and kissing him. Pushing him into the couch and leaning their foreheads together. “I need to get back,” he sighed. He kissed him once more, pulling himself off and grabbing at his jeans. He stood up, pulling them up with him and buttoning them again.

Jinyoung exhaled. Feeling Mark’s weight leave him. The emptiness rushing in again. He watched him from his spot. “When will I see you again?” he said.

Mark shrugged, reaching for his shirt on the floor. “Friday. At the show,” he said simply, torso flexing as he pulled it over his head.

Jinyoung rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t count.” He crossed over to him. His hand reaching out. Forefinger curling under his chin, lifting it to meet his eyes. “When will I see you again? Like this.”

Mark couldn’t look him straight on. He gulped. “I don’t know, Jinyoung,” he pulled his head away.

“Hey,” Jinyoung grabbed his waist, pulling him close. He put a hand to his cheek, getting the boy’s attention.

Mark’s eyes were hard. Like there were a million thoughts behind them. But his mouth was small. Not letting any of them escape. 

Jinyoung sighed. “It’s okay,” he nodded. “We’ll figure it out.”

Mark’s expression didn’t change but he leaned in, kissing Jinyoung quick. As if he was trying to sweep all that heaviness under the rug. “Come on,” he said, kissing him again. Voice too light. Too carefree to be genuine. “Let’s get out of here.”

\---

  


**“The saving grace was the feeling that it was a heart that he was stealing.”**

Another Friday night at the Balaclava. Jinyoung was post-set again, leaning against the bar in his button down, suspenders hanging down from his plaid pants. Across the room, Mark was sitting in Jaebeom’s lap. The front man’s hands holding his firm inked sides through the wide arm holes of his muscle tank. And Jinyoung was wondering if his public affection was routine or influenced by Jinyoung’s presence.

Mark passed Jaebeom a shot. They toasted, but from the distance, Jinyoung could see the way Mark’s eyes met his. The way he held his gaze as Jaebeom threw back his shot and Mark poured his to the side and onto the floor.

Jinyoung smiled. Watching as Mark screwed a face as he pulled the glass away and looked back at Jaebeom. Both of them smiled as if they were sharing the same experience. Mark whispered into Jaebeom’s ear, shaking the empty shot glass, as if asking for another. Jaebeom called out to someone else, ordering them more drinks.

And they repeated this a few times. Each time, Jinyoung watching as Mark drained the contents onto the floor while Jaebeom drained them down his throat. The man losing the fierceness in his eyes. Replacing it with something softer. Something that seemed unlike him. Mark mirroring that softness, playing along. His hands around the man’s neck and his smile stretched wide.

And if Jinyoung hadn’t known the truth, maybe he would have been mad. But watching how Mark was tricking Jaebeom, made him thrum with excitement. He felt a tap on his back, turning to see Youngjae.

“We’re going home,” he called into his ear. “You coming?”

Jinyoung’s eyes flashed over to Mark, meeting his gaze for a moment. Exchanging intentions. “I think I’ll catch up later.”

Youngjae shrugged. “Fine. Just be quiet when you come in, okay?”

Jinyoung nodded, resigning himself to watching. And it must have been another half an hour and two or three more shots later when Mark beckoned his head towards the exit. Jinyoung hustled, going out to the parking lot. He leaned up against his car, spinning his keyring around his finger nervously. Feeling the heat of the summer night and the ringing in his ears. He looked up towards the sky and hoped for something. Something obscure that he couldn’t put into words. More like a feeling than anything else. A feeling he’d wanted to have since the first time he saw Mark. He dared to wonder if he’d feel it tonight.

Mark ran up beside him, leaning himself alongside Jinyoung. “He’s blacked out,” he said, triumphantly. “I told Jackson and Yugyeom to take him home.”

Jinyoung smiled. “So eager to see me, huh?”

Mark smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. Not answering. “You gonna take me somewhere or what?”

Jinyoung grabbed his hip, pulling him closer. Drawing their faces together. “Come back to my place,” he whispered.

Mark’s teeth flashed back in the low streetlight of the parking lot, but his eyes cast downward, hesitating. “But Youngjae and Bambam,” he said.

Jinyoung shook his head. “They’ll be asleep. We’ll be quiet,” he urged. “Please.”

Mark bit his lip, looking back up at him. Seeming to search for something in his eyes. 

And Jinyoung wondered what feeling he was chasing tonight. If it was the same as his. 

Regardless, Mark nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They got in Jinyoung’s car, driving down the empty roads, past blinking traffic lights. The town was quiet this time of night. Groggy under the haze of the warm summer air. Shrouding them from unwanted eyes. Perfect for Jinyoung who wanted nothing more than to feel like it was only Mark and him existing. Being left to their own devices.

When they got to his apartment, they took their shoes off at the door, sneaking slowly across the living room. Careful not to make a sound. Jinyoung let Mark into his room, closing the door behind them.

Mark looked around the darkened room. “So, this is what a college apartment is like, then,” he came up to the dresser, looking at Jinyoung’s small knick-knacks. A few journalism books stacked neatly. A tray that held a few watches and colognes that had been gifted to him over the years. A framed picture of his family on holiday in Europe. He huffed, “It’s cleaner than I thought I would be.”

Jinyoung shrugged, sitting down on the made bed. “I have someone come and clean it.”

From where Jinyoung was sitting, he could see Mark’s face in the mirror. Watching the way he shook his head. “Of course, you do,” the boy said, almost to himself. “God, sometimes I forget how different you are from him,” he almost laughed. “Of course, you’re not afraid of him.”

Jinyoung grimaced. Thinking of Jaebeom. Wondering if everyone before him that Mark tried to bring in had run off at the sound of Jaebeom’s bark. “What do you mean?”

“Look at you, Jinyoung,” Mark whipped his head back at him. “Fear belongs to those who’ve learned that just because you want something, doesn’t mean you get it. It belongs to those who’ve heard no. Who’ve struggled.” He motioned to the room. “But you,” he sighed. “With your brand-new apartment and your perfectly matched furniture and your expensive collectibles and your cleaning service. You’ve always gotten everything you wanted. So, you don’t know fear. Not like the rest of us.”

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Jinyoung knew what he should have done. He should have taken a moment to internalize it. He should have told Mark he was sorry. He should have acknowledged that he was right. That he was privileged and naïve and out of touch. But in the moment, he didn’t care what Mark was insinuating about him by pointing out their differences. He didn’t care about any of that. “I don’t have everything,” he shook his head.

Mark huffed a laugh. He leaned up against the dresser. “Oh, yeah? Name one thing you don’t have,” he challenged, arms folding across his chest.

Jinyoung smirked. “You.”

Mark narrowed his eyes. Mouth going small. Not amused.

“Unless,” Jinyoung raised his eyebrows. “You _are_ mine.” He got up from his place on the bed, coming closer to him.

“I’m not yours,” Mark shook his head. “I’m not anyone’s.”

“Are you sure about that?” Jinyoung braced his hands against the dresser on either side of Mark’s hips, tilting his head. “Because tonight you nearly had to poison a man to escape him.”

Mark smiled against his will. “And I’ll poison you too if you keep saying shit like that,” he pushed a finger against his chest.

Jinyoung rubbed the spot, acting hurt. “Fine,” he pouted. “Then don’t be mine,” he leaned in, whispering into his ear. “Let me be yours.”

Mark inhaled, chest widening. His hands reaching out to grab at Jinyoung’s hips, pulling them close against his own. “Say it again.”

Jinyoung smirked, kissing his neck slowly. Lips dragging over the skin. Low in the bend of his neck but moving upwards, kissing a trail back up to his ear. “Mark, please,” he whimpered. “I wanna be yours.”

One of Mark’s hands snaked up to the nape of his neck, grabbing at the hair and yanking him away to look in his eyes. And they were dark and warm and sparkling.

Jinyoung leaned himself in again, brushing up his nose against Mark’s cheek. Kissing his jaw and his cheek and the corner of his mouth, pulling back to look at him once more.

And he was beautiful. There was no doubt about that. Vivid and deep and layered with so many different variations of feeling that Jinyoung didn’t know which one to try first.

He put his hand to Mark’s hip, working up underneath his shirt. Knuckles against the skin of his abdomen. Feeling him shudder against the sensation. He worked those knuckles down until they were resting dead center, on the skin below his navel. Curling his fingers into the waistband of his jeans and touching the skin that radiated so warm there. Feeling the slightest kick of his hips towards his fingers. Jinyoung stepped backward, pulling him by his waistband. Backing up onto the bed and sitting down. Hands reaching up to Mark’s ass to grip it firmly. “Take your shirt off,” he whispered. 

Mark let a smile grow across his face. Reaching up behind his neck pulling it up and off him.

Jinyoung’s mouth went to where his hips bones peaked above his jeans. Letting his lips kiss where the bone met the muscle. Looking up at him and watching the way he looked back. He let his teeth graze the spot, seeing the flick of Mark’s bite glowing white.

Mark’s hands pushed against his chest until he was flat against the bed. Mark climbed over him, leaning down to kiss him. Torturously soft and slow.

Jinyoung felt the curl of Mark’s tongue against the seam of his mouth, gasping into it. Edging his head upwards to let him in. Feeling the unbearable ache for more pooling low in him but knowing it was too good to rush.

Mark licked into his mouth. Nibbling at his bottom lip. All that same precision he drummed with but no anger in it. Mark’s fingers worked at the buttons on Jinyoung’s shirt. One by one exposing more of his chest. When he got to the last one, he pushed it off his shoulders. Pulling away to look down at him. Both of them breathless. Not from the pace, but the anticipation. “Hiding a body like this the whole time?” he scoffed. “That’s not fair.”

Jinyoung whined, hips unconsciously arching up. Trying to relieve the building pressure in his lap.

Mark grinded down into him. 

Jinyoung grabbed his hips, in a moment of impatience, and flipped him. He sat up, sliding his arms out of the button down and casting it aside. Fingers going to Mark’s jeans again but this time working them open.

Mark was lying on his back, propped up onto his forearms. Watching him fumble with the button and the zipper. Lifting his hips up to encourage him

Jinyoung grabbed for the edges against his hips, tugging them down his tight frame until they could be kicked off onto the floor. When Mark was finally laying there, beautifully exposed in the low light of the room, Jinyoung reached out. He grabbed Mark’s cock and worked it in his fist, steadily. 

Mark groaned, low, in the back of his throat. Remembering to keep quiet. One of his knees pulling up, using it leverage to work his hips up into Jinyoung’s hand.

But the new stretch of access had Jinyoung sloping his hand downwards. Fingertips feeling for his entrance, rubbing it and watching Mark’s chest collapse with an exhale. His hips maneuvering downward, pushing up against Jinyoung’s fingers.

Jinyoung paused, leaning over to grab lube from his bedside. He uncapped it in a hurry, spreading it down his fingers generously. He returned them to Mark’s entrance, working them with more slip now. Pushing into the tight hole.

“Careful,” Mark hissed, watching his hand. He panted. “I haven’t done this.”

Jinyoung’s hand froze. His eyes widened. “Y-you haven’t?” he stuttered out. “How?”

Mark sighed. “I’ve had sex. But I haven’t done this,” he shook his head. “Cause he likes to…” his voice trailed off. Not saying anymore.

“Wait,” Jinyoung sat back. His smile growing across his face. “You’re telling me-“

“No, stop,” Mark rushed, realizing his mistake. He put his hands over his face.

“Jaebeom strictly bottoms?” Jinyoung couldn’t contain the laugh. He shook his head. “This is the greatest day of my life.”

“I didn’t say that,” Mark reasoned.

Jinyoung huffed, “You didn’t have to.”

Mark groaned. “Fine. Just… you can’t tell anyone. He’s weird about it.”

“Oh, I’m perfectly content with keeping this information to myself.”

Mark rolled his eyes, “Are you gonna fuck me or what?”

Jinyoung calmed himself, eyes raking back over Mark’s body to remember the task at hand. He returned his fingers to Mark’s hole, pushing one in and feeling his hips stifle against it. Watching the way he grinded his teeth. “How’s that?” he asked.

Mark breathed. “Feels good,” he nodded.

Jinyoung smiled, leaning down and kissing him again. Working a finger inside of him. Feeling how the walls began to soften. He bit down on Mark’s lip as he slid another one in, feeling the hiss between the boy’s teeth. He started to move them, the slick of the lube easing the motion. Pressing into him, a little bit deeper each time. He curled his fingers upward, massaging into him. Searching for that spot until-

Mark moaned loud into his mouth. Jinyoung kissing him hard to quiet him before smiling against it. “There it is,” he giggled.

Mark giggled too. “Jinyoung,” he whined. “Do that with your dick.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. He withdrew his fingers, working open his plaid pants. Remembering all the exposed seams and threads from where Bambam had sewed them that week. He took them off gently, careful not to rip them. Stripping his underwear along with them.

He uncapped the lube again, before Mark was sitting up. 

“Let me,” he said, taking the lube from his hands and squeezing it into his own. He enclosed his fingers around Jinyoung’s hard cock, working up to spread the lube.

Jinyoung whimpered, loving the feeling of Mark’s long, pretty fingers around him. How they slid frictionless against him. Closing his eyes and getting lost in it for a moment. He looked back down, seeing the way Mark was staring at him. Lip between his sharp teeth, wrist twisting until all the muscles in his arm were flexing along with it. And it was good, amazing actually, but not what he was after.

He pulled Mark’s hand away, bringing it up to face and kissing into the inside of his wrist. “Are you sure you want this?” he whispered against the skin. “We don’t have to.”

Mark drew his wrist away, getting Jinyoung's attention. His eyes wide and bright. “Jinyoung,” he said, voice warm. “I want this.”

Jinyoung felt the ache of his chest. He nodded, putting his hands to Mark’s hips and pushing in. As he slid into Mark, he could feel the slight resistance. He watched his breathtaking face. Carefully making sure that it wasn’t too much.

Mark’s eyebrows creased together, mouth falling open. “More,” he sighed. “Give me more.”

So Jinyoung did, sliding out just to push back in. The rhythm slow to start, more dragging than thrusting. Feeling the way it softened a little more with each movement. Encouraging Jinyoung to weight his hips with a little more effort. Feeling both of them fall into rhythm. The rising pulse of Mark becoming his.

Mark stopped gritting his teeth. Instead, his mouth fell open. Like he might moan loud enough to wake Youngjae and Bam but instead he just whispered out. “Come here,” and he raised himself up, leveraging his body into Jinyoung’s lap. He wrapped his hands around Jinyoung’s neck, drawing their mouths together.

Jinyoung’s arms enclosed him, smoothing up his back as he started to rut up into him, whining into his mouth. His whole body buzzing. Getting too high and feeling Mark escalate with him. He took one hand, grabbing for Mark’s cock and stroking it.

“Fuck,” Mark whimpered, eyes screwing shut. “Right there, Jinyoung. Oh, fuck.” He shuddered out his climax in Jinyoung’s lap. His cum dripping down Jinyoung’s fingers and catching on their torsos.

Mark kissed him, breathless. “Don’t stop,” he whispered. “Show me you’re mine.”

Jinyoung’s pace kicked up, but it wasn’t brutal or vicious. No, there was still something achingly sweet in it. About the way Mark clutched his neck. And how they kept kissing. Something gentle in it. Like a quiet secret just for them to hold onto.

And Jinyoung only lasted a few last sloppy thrusts until he too was coming apart in Mark’s arms. Breathing shakily into his mouth. Eyebrows drawn together. Everything slowing down.

Jinyoung collapsed backwards on the bed, his head resting against the pillow. 

Mark leaned forward, laying on top of him. His hands folded against Jinyoung’s stomach, resting his head against them. The boy looked up at him. His eyes big and glossy. His lip worked between his teeth. Mind seemingly miles away already.

“Hey,” Jinyoung panted, trying to catch his breath. He smoothed a hand down Mark’s back. “Was it okay?” he asked. “Cause if it wasn’t, next time we could-“

“No,” Mark shook his head. He thought for a moment. “I just,” he hesitated, unable to meet his eyes. “I didn’t know sex could be that.”

“Like what?”

Mark shrugged his bare shoulders. “Beautiful. Loving,” his cheek drew up, tracing a finger across Jinyoung’s torso.

“It’s never like that?” Jinyoung asked. “With him?”

Mark shook his head. “It’s,” he bit his lip again. “This was good. Really good.”

Jinyoung furrowed his brows. “Then what are you thinking about?” he whispered, running his thumb along the boy’s lip. Smoothing it away from his bite.

Mark blinked back up at him. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m here.”

Jinyoung shook his head. “No, you’re not,” he said. He sighed. “Why can’t you tell me anything?” he asked softly, fingers combing into Mark’s hair. Pushing it out of his face. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean anything,” Jinyoung urged. “I just want to know. About you. About your past. About your problems.”

“They’re stupid,” Mark almost smiled. “You’ll think they’re stupid.”

Jinyoung shook his head. “I don’t care. I want to know everything about you, Mark,” he said.

Mark’s lips tugged upwards. His eyes sparkling for a moment. He exhaled, burying his face in Jinyoung’s bare chest for a moment, like he was embarrassed. He looked back up. Licking his lips before starting. “I grew up a few blocks from the university.”

Jinyoung’s eyebrows raised. “Really?” he blinked. “On this side of the tracks?”

Mark nodded. “And when I was seventeen, I was everything you probably wouldn’t expect. Privileged upbringing. Honor student. College hopeful. The all state symphony’s first chair symphonic percussionist. Practicing for hours a day. Dreaming of getting accepted into Juilliard,” he huffed, like it was a joke now. But then his face turned, hardening a little. “But then I met Jaebeom.”

Jinyoung felt the simmer of his blood at the mention.

Mark shrugged. “And he wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen. He was troubled. All rough edges. So vehemently trying to be bigger than this town. Everyone was either terrified of him or in love with him. And I was a little of both. He saw me play at a school assembly. Approached me afterwards, almost hostile. Asking where I’d learned to play drums like that. And I was shaking. I told him I’d practically been taking lessons since kindergarten. And right there, he told me he was starting a band. Said he needed a drummer.” He shook his head, “And it was like I didn’t have a choice.”

“We started playing together. I’d take a bus across the tracks to his parent’s house. They weren’t rich like mine. They were these blue-collar people who couldn’t begin to understand their son. They had a shed where we could all practice. And one time. It was dark and raining, so Jaebeom offered me a ride home. He drove me out to the tracks, parking there and switching off the ignition. And he kissed me. He told me that he should start driving me home from practice. Not giving me a choice. And at the time, I didn’t want another choice. So, he started driving me. And every time, we’d stop by the tracks and I’d get home later and later because…” his voice trailed off. Not needing the explanation. He shrugged. “Honestly, in retrospect, those were the good days. Before everything got so complicated.”

Jinyoung felt the story about to take a turn and it had his stomach churning in anticipation.

“It wasn’t too long before my parents found out about him. About where he came from. About his notoriety in town. And, obviously, they didn’t want me in the band anymore. So, I started skipping symphonic rehearsal for band practice. I let my grades slip. I ditched my classes to drive out to the tracks with him. One time, we even got caught. The cops dragging me home to my parents. They were furious. But what could they do?” he shrugged. “I was obsessed. There was no talking sense into me.”

“We were getting ready to graduate. We’d talk about the future. Not about us. Cause there was never really an us. Nothing official. Nothing real. So instead we’d talk about the band. Jaebeom told me I should wait on university. See where the band goes,” he looked down. “You can imagine how well that went over with my parents.” His tongue moving across his teeth for a moment, hesitating before speaking again. “They kicked me out. Shut down my bank account. Told me to come back when I’d made something of myself. They said if I was so hellbent on making it on my own that I wouldn’t need their help to do it.” He swallowed. “So that same night, I showed up on Jaebeom’s front porch. And he just kinda smirked and let me in. Almost like he knew it would happen that way. Like there had never been another choice.”

Jinyoung shook his head. “But what about now? That doesn’t expl-“

“I’m getting there,” Mark stopped him. He sighed. “It must have been a year later. We’d been playing shows. Growing slowly. And there was this guy who came up to me after. He seemed interested in me. And he was good looking. And me and Jaebeom never spoke about exclusivity, right? So, why not?” Mark’s cheek twitched, his eyes hyper focusing on a freckle on Jinyoung’s chest. His face flooding with something a little darker. Maybe from the freshness of the memory. Maybe from something else. “Jaebeom found us in the van. Pulled the guy off me. Punched him in the gut and threw him out. He got in the van and drove me out to the tracks. He clamored into the back. Kissed me so hard my lip split. He said if I pulled anything like that ever again, I’d be out of the band.”

Mark twisted his lips together. Like he was holding back. His eyes shining ever so slightly in the low light. “So now, I’m stuck in this piece of shit town. And the band. The band is the only option. To get out of here. To get back into my family. To have any hope for the future.” He looked up. “And that’s the worst part. It’s not even about him and me anymore. It’s about what I need to do to survive.”

Jinyoung furrowed his brows. He shook his head. “He can’t do that. He can’t use your home, your livelihood, your family, your wellbeing as some bargaining chip just to keep you his.”

Mark huffed a laugh. Something sad in it. The shine in his coagulating when he blinked. “Watch him.”

Jinyoung was desperate to lighten the conversation any way he could. Desperate to clear the gloss from Mark’s eyes. Smooth the crease between his brows. He took his face in his hands. Watching his distant, distracted eyes roll towards him. “Where would you go?” he whispered.

“Mmm?” Mark hummed, looking up at him.

“If you could leave this piece of shit town right now,” Jinyoung asked. “If you could move anywhere in the world. Where would you move?”

Mark’s eyes brightened in an instant. Going from shiny to sparkling. Not even having to think. “New York City.”

Jinyoung smirked. “Really?”

Mark nodded, raising himself up. Hovering over Jinyoung. “That’s where I’ve always wanted to live.”

Jinyoung smiled. He reached down, grabbing Mark’s hand and sliding off the bed. Dragging Mark with him. “Then let’s go.”

Mark laughed. “Jinyoung,” he grabbed both hands around Jinyoung’s, leaning all his weight back to pull him. “Jinyoung, no.”

“I’m serious,” Jinyoung laughed with him. “Let’s go. I’ll take you there. We can go tonight.”

“Stop. No,” Mark giggled through his sharp teeth. “Why are you like this?” He pulled hard enough that it had Jinyoung falling back onto him.

Jinyoung laughed, braced himself over him. He put a hand to his face. “Because I’ll take you anywhere. I’ll do anything. Just to open up your world so that you see that you are more than this shitty town. More than some rock band. More than some possessive creep who can’t keep his hands off you.”

And just as quickly as Mark’s smile had grown, it fell. “Jinyoung,” He sighed slightly aggravated, sitting up and facing him. Getting heated too quickly. “You can’t say that. The band, for better or for worse, is my dream. You can’t invalidate my dream.”

Jinyoung felt the frustration coming off of him, mirroring it. Getting worked up and defensive. “Then, what do I say? Huh?” his eyes widened, raising his voice slightly. “How do I support your dream when I have no hope of being a part of it?”

Mark crossed his arms, sitting back against the headboard. He was silent for a long moment. Weighing his words. “Maybe,” he said softly. “Maybe you just accept it. And move on without me.”

Jinyoung’s stomach sank. He grabbed for Mark’s hands, pulling him open. “I don’t want that,” he shook his head. Looking into his eyes. Trying to read him but getting nothing in return. “Do you?”

Mark didn’t speak. His eyes going hard. Breathless and beautiful and still so bothered by something that Jinyoung couldn’t piece apart. “I don’t know, Jinyoung,” he sighed. “I just know that this isn’t sustainable.”

Jinyoung felt it like a blow to the stomach. That unsureness in his voice. Still yearning for that feeling that he couldn’t put into words. Thinking for the first time that maybe Mark couldn’t give it to him. The thought made him feel the itch of panic everywhere, but he tampered it down. Tried to replace it with anything. “Come here,” he put a hand to Mark’s cheek, pulling him in for a kiss. Trying to quell all the unspoken worries between both of them. 

Mark’s arms looped around his torso, resting against his lower back and pulling him in closer. Kissing him back and murmuring against his mouth. “The sun will be up soon, Jinyoung.”

Jinyoung sighed, pressing his forehead against Mark’s, his eyes screwing tightly closed. Taking in the warmth of his skin. The feeling of his closeness. “I don’t want you to go,” he whispered. He pulled back, looking into his eyes. Holding his face in his hands. “Please,” he begged. “Please, don’t go.”

Mark looked back. Distancing himself. Holding pain behind his eyes. Somewhere no one could reach.

And Jinyoung didn’t know what to do. How to get through to him. He held his breath. “I love you, Mark.”

Mark shook his head. “You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t care. I love you.”

Mark sighed. “Jinyoung, please,” he reached for his hands, pulling them away. “We’re both tired. Just take me home. We can talk about this another time.”

Jinyoung hated it. He hated how easily Mark shut down. “You promise?”

Mark nodded.

Jinyoung sighed, ragged. “Fine,” he said. He got up, reaching for his clothes. “I’ll take you home.”


	3. Act III

**“Curiosity becomes a heavy load. Too heavy to hold.”**

Jinyoung should have known it was the beginning of the end. He should have known when a week passed and his phone didn’t ring. Not even a text. And maybe somewhere, in the back of his mind, he did. But he’d been dragged by that unforecasted storm for so long that letting go felt like a loss he wasn’t ready to take.

He wrote a new song. Something soft and sappy to fit the way he felt. Something about a starry-eyed Juliet. About the back of an amphitheater. About wishing for a thousand places better than this. And he imagined himself singing it and looking over to see Mark’s sparkling eyes glinting back from the side stage. Imagined that maybe something about it would click and Mark would suddenly realize that Jinyoung could show him more than Jaebeom and the band ever could. And Jinyoung just kept working up this fantasy of how it would go. His mind playing it out over and over again.

Youngjae hated the song. He said it was immature. Out of touch. Fanatical. And they bickered for three days straight until Jinyoung finally got so tired of having to defend it that he told his roommate that he’d play it himself. So, on Friday, at the Balaclava, Youngjae and Bambam dipped out before the last song. Leaving just Jinyoung and his guitar. He gave no introduction before he started to strum out the chords with his pick. His voice soft without the backing to compete against. The crowd soothed down to nothing. And when Jinyoung looked to the side stage, hoping to see a glimpse of the Mark he’d been dreaming of, all he saw were the drummer’s eyes cast off. Hard and tense. Arms folded over his chest, sticks in hand.

And it wasn’t the image Jinyoung had wanted. It didn’t fit into the fantasy he had contrived. And something about that hurt more than he thought it would. But he brushed it off, finishing the song and saluting to the crowd before coming off stage. He tried to catch Mark’s eyes for even a moment but the drummer seemed unable to meet his gaze.

“Give it up one more time for Fluorescent Adolescents!” the long-haired radio host called out to a chorus of applause from the audience as he bounded on stage. He waited for them to quiet again. “Now, my friends. My patrons. I would like to take the opportunity before our last set today to acknowledge what a special day it is.”

“You see,” he started. “Thirty years ago today, I came back from the Gulf with a Purple Heart and a big fat check from Papa Bush. And I didn’t know what to do so I thought about what had kept me alive fighting those Iraqis. And it was two things. One, music. And two, this.” He pulled a bundle of army green knitted fabric. A mask with only a cut out for the eyes. “My balaclava that went under my gas mask. To protect me from the chemical warfare those sons of bitches were waging against us.”

“And so, with the stipend I was given, I opened this club. And a few years later, I started the radio station. And the rest is history, am I right?” The crowd cheered. “And so today, I want to raise my glass to the music, to my balaclava, and to all of you, who have made these past thirty years worth going to war for.” He raised the mask into the air, the crowd raising their drinks. “To the Balaclava!” And the crowd repeated it before knocking back their drinks. “Now!” the man shouted. “What you’re really here for. Put your hands together for… Brainstorm!”

Jinyoung tried not to worry as he watched Brainstorm play their set. Because Mark’s drumming felt totally different now. More controlled and contained. More hesitant in the way he moved. In the way he barely looked up to the crowd. And as soon as the set ended and Mark got up from his kit, Jaebeom leaned into Mark’s ear and whispered something to him. Mark nodded, eyes distant and glazed. He followed Jaebeom backstage. And Jinyoung watched the door from his spot on the edge of the room, trying not to count the minutes that passed. Trying not to imagine what they were doing. But when Jaebeom was the only one to come back out, he was only left with more questions. So, he waited it out, hoping to see another flash of Mark that would put his nerves at ease.

Sometime after Youngjae and Bambam went home, Jaebeom seemed to leave too. And Mark was still nowhere to be found so Jinyoung decided to cut his losses and close his tab. He went out to the parking lot. His eyes to the ground, ears still ringing from the club. But when he approached his car, Jaebeom was there waiting for him. Leaning up against the driver’s side door with his jaw tense around a cigarette. Profiled by the haze of smoke that caught the streetlights.

Jinyoung stopped, keeping his distance. “Are you going to let me leave?” he asked.

Jaebeom looked back, his expression almost uninterested. He took the cigarette from his mouth, absentmindedly blowing a cloud of smoke. “I wanted to chat.”

Jinyoung swallowed, feeling the stirring of nerves below the surface. “I don’t really think we have a lot to chat about.”

Jaebeom took another drag. Tip glowing bright orange. He threw the excess to the ground, letting it smolder against the asphalt. “And yet somehow,” he put his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “There seems to be something in common between us.”

Jinyoung immediately knew what he was playing at, but he didn’t know what to say. So, he stayed frozen and placid. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shook his head.

Jaebeom smirked. “That little piece of shit ballad you pulled out of your ass tonight? Did you think you were being coy?” he tilted his head, eyes sharp. “Don’t play stupid. I know you’ve been seeing him, Jinyoung.”

Jinyoung felt it everywhere. Flushing all over. That flooding of scorching panic he always got when he knew he’d been caught.

Jaebeom looked up toward the blackened night sky, mouth spreading into a Cheshire cat smile. Wide and sinister. “The thing is… you knew we were together. And yet, you were still foolish enough to go after him.”

Jinyoung gulped. Hands going into fists. Mouth tight. The words rose in his throat until he found the will to push them out. Not knowing where the line was between bravery and stupidity. “Well, that’s the thing,” he narrowed his eyes. “You can’t just say you’re together when one person clearly doesn’t want to be.”

Jaebeom huffed a laugh under his breath, looking over to him. Eyes bright and mocking. “Is that what he’s told you?” he raised his brows. “That he doesn’t want it?”

Jinyoung didn’t speak. Thinking back to how Mark had phrased it. Trying to piece apart the meaning of his words. Jaebeom’s intensity suddenly making him doubt what he thought he knew.

Jaebeom adjusted himself against the car door, facing Jinyoung and running the tip of his tongue over his lip before speaking. “I get it, Jinyoung. I really do. You’re a little brat with mommy and daddy’s money. The concept of ‘no’ is new for you,” he scrunched his nose a little. “So I’m going to break it down for you.” He stepped forward, slowly walking along the edge of the car, taking slow steps. One foot in front of the other. And as he did, he took one of those shiny metal rings on his fingers and ran it along the length. And the screech that emanated made it clear that he was keying a line into the paint, earning a gasp from Jinyoung. “Mark… is mine,” Jaebeom said, dragging along. “You don’t get to touch him. You don’t get to play with him. You don’t get to talk to him.” 

Jaebeom stepped close to him. Squaring up. Only a hair taller but his broadness still managed to make Jinyoung feel small as he could feel the heat of anger coming off of him. “And if you do, these rings won’t be scratching up your pretty car. No,” he raised up his hand. Knuckles going up to brush softly against his cheek. “They’ll be scratching up that pretty face of yours.”

Jinyoung gritted his teeth. Simmering to a boil. “I’m not afraid of you, Jaebeom.”

Jaebeom’s hand fell away. His eyes pierced through him. “Maybe you should be.”

Jaebeom’s proximity was clouding his thoughts. Making him feel desperate for any kind of higher ground. And so when the words spilled out, they weren’t the ones that Jinyoung knew to be true. But rather the ones he wanted to believe. “Mark loves me.”

Jaebeom’s mouth pulled up, laughing. A gust of his breath, laced with alcohol and cigarettes, hitting against Jinyoung’s face. “Has he told you that?” he titled his head, pausing. Looking into his eyes. Reading him. “God. You don’t know him at all, do you?”

Jinyoung gulped. Desperately trying to hide whatever Jaebeom kept finding in his face.

Jaebeom didn’t seem deterred. “He took you to that amphitheater, didn’t he?” he hummed. “Did he let you blow him in the waiting room?”

Jinyoung felt himself choke up around his tongue. His mind rushed. Thinking back to that place. How confidently Mark had navigated every inch of it. How practiced each step had been.

Jaebeom seemed to see the confirmation on his face. Smirking again and bringing his mouth close to the side of his head. “I’ve known him for many years, Jinyoung,” he rumbled in his ear, breath hot. “So just remember that there’s nothing you could have done with him that I haven’t already done.” And with that Jaebeom pulled away, turning himself to leave.

Jinyoung felt the rush of blood in his ears. The lingering scent of his smoke. And for some reason, it kickstarted something in him. And without thinking, the words came up like bile in his mouth. Bitter and stinging. “I fucked him,” he spat out. “That’s more than you could ever do.”

Jaebeom looked back at him. “Excuse me?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“You heard me,” Jinyoung stood his ground. Unable to find his voice for so long but now not knowing how to stop. “You should have heard him call for me. Tell me he wanted it. He was so pretty underneath me.”

And it was too fast. Jinyoung watching the way Jaebeom shifted back towards him. He felt the front of his shirt being grabbed, pulled closer. A flash of Jaebeom’s hand fisted up, raised and aimed. And then he felt it, hard metal against his cheek. Splicing through the skin on contact. Stinging and burning. Jinyoung fell back onto the pavement, his hand going up his face. He cursed under his breath, looking back up to Jaebeom who stood seething over him.

And now when he spoke, there was none of that smirking sarcasm. No, now it was nothing but fire in his voice and his eyes. “I’ve been very forgiving so far, Jinyoung,” his chest rose and fell. He shook his head. “Next time, I won’t be as kind. So, do yourself a favor. Leave Mark alone.”

Jinyoung leaned up onto one elbow, feeling the grit of the asphalt. He watched Jaebeom walk off to his own car, an old convertible that was nearly matte with the way the black paint had bleached out to gray. The ignition roared to life along with the music, loud and trashing. The old tires screeching as he drove away. Leaving nothing but the fading of tail lights disappearing around a bend in the road.

Jinyoung pulled himself up off the ground, still clutching his cheek. He got in his car, putting his head against the steering wheel and feeling a shuddering breath pull from his chest. He looked up, adjusting the rear view mirror to assess the damage. He was bloodied and swelling subtly. Tender to the touch. His mind wandering to how he was going to explain it to Youngjae and Bambam before deciding that was a problem for tomorrow.

When Jinyoung pulled into his parking spot outside his building, his headlights illuminated a boy sitting on his porch. Knees drawn up. High top converse untied. And even from the driver’s seat, Jinyoung could see how red and bleary his eyes were. And it was the first time that seeing Mark didn’t fill him with that back beat that wouldn’t quiet. Yet he still couldn’t tear his eyes from him.

He shut off the car, getting out and slamming the door. Standing for a moment and watching Mark rise to his feet. “What are you doing here?” Jinyoung asked.

Mark sighed, putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Looking downward. “He kicked me out.”

“What?” Jinyoung felt that heat from the parking lot returning immediately.

“Not forever,” Mark rushed to say. “Just. He’s mad. He said he doesn’t want to see me right now.”

Jinyoung sighed. “That makes two of us,” he muttered, stepping closer.

And he must have caught the porch light finally because Mark’s eyes widened. The boy rushed forward, hands going up to Jinyoung’s face and pulling him closer. “What happened?” he breathed, glossy eyes inspecting the wound. Thumb going up to brush against it.

Jinyoung winced, hissing and pulling his face back a little. His eyes watering at the sensation. “Like you said,” he shrugged. “He’s mad.”

Mark’s mouth got small. His eyes got distant and wet. His mind somewhere else. His hands still pressed to Jinyoung’s face. He shook his head, voice soft when he spoke. “I tried to warn you, Jinyoung,” he said. “I knew this would happen.”

Jinyoung felt his stomach stir with something unsettled. Because he wanted to reach out and pull him closer and tell him it was okay. But all those words that Jaebeom said were still circling in his mind. And it wasn’t the threats that bothered him, but the doubt that Jaebeom had sown. Doubt that Jinyoung’s feelings weren’t reciprocated. That Mark was simply replacing Jaebeom’s presence in his life with something different.

And Jinyoung was tired. Tired from a long day. Tired from running around in the shadows. Tired from Mark’s evasive dodging. He twisted his mouth before speaking. “Then do me a favor.”

Mark’s eyes cleared. Present. Listening intently.

“Tell me to go away.”

Mark's hands fell away. He stepped back. “What?”

Jinyoung shook his head. “Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me to stop writing songs about you. Tell me to back out of the Balaclava and stay on this side of the tracks,” he rushed. Furrowing his brows. Voice coming out hurt. “But don’t give me the run around. And don’t take me to places that have already belonged to you and him. And don’t turn up on my doorstep like I’m your second-best option.”

“Jinyoung,” Mark sighed. His shoulders dropping.

“Tell me,” Jinyoung insisted. “If this is as one-sided as it’s feeling right now then tell me.”

Mark’s eyes stayed fixed. But everything in him seemed to shrink back, withdrawing. “You said it was harmless fun, Jinyoung,” he whispered. “That’s what you said.”

“Fine,” Jinyoung surrendered, throwing his arms. “Maybe I wasn’t being truthful. Because I wanted more than fun. Because obviously, I‘m in love with you. And I want to show you that. I want to give you the world, Mark,” his skin crawled with the immediacy to speak. “I’m putting it all out there for you and I just want the same in return. For better or worse. Because if this isn’t what you want, you can’t keep making me think that it is.” 

Mark seemed to pale under the porch light. He took a deep breath before swallowing it down. Voice coming out rough. “Let’s go somewhere.”

Jinyoung blinked. “What?”

“Come on,” he started walking to the car. “I want to take you somewhere.”

So Jinyoung and him took off, Mark calling out directions again. And it was only a few minutes of turning down suburban streets before Mark was telling him to park on the curb alongside a grove of tall trees.

“Where is this?” Jinyoung asked, looking around the quiet neighborhood. Something about it seeming oddly familiar.

“I’ll show you,” Mark beckoned. “Just stay quiet.”

Mark led him through the trees, darkness flooding every step as twigs cracked under foot. And they only walked a few hundred feet before reaching a chain link fence. Mark started to scale it, his high tops finding the footing easily before jumping over to the other side. “Come on,” he motioned to Jinyoung.

“What is this place and why do I feel like we shouldn’t be here?” Jinyoung whispered through the fence.

Mark shook his head. “It’s fine. Just trust me.”

Jinyoung sighed before scrambling his way over the fence with less grace than Mark, ripping a hole in the knee of his pants when they caught on the edge. He jumped down. He followed behind Mark, wordlessly maneuvering between the tightly packed trees. Chasing the curve of his neck that shone in the low nightlight. Evasive as it slipped around trunks. And it was several hundred more feet before Mark stopped, looking up. 

Jinyoung’s eyes followed, trailing up a tall oak tree. It’s branches twisting outward, wide and strong. And resting among the branches, Jinyoung could see the shadow of a treehouse.

Mark approached the large trunk and started to climb the narrow wooden ladder upwards. 

Jinyoung watched him ascend with sure steps, much like the amphitheater. Not even looking to his feet to see where he was stepping. Jinyoung went after him, clumsily climbing his way up until his head was popping up through the floor and Mark was reaching out to pull him up and shut the latch behind him. 

Mark got up, dusting off his hands on his jeans and grabbing at a lantern on a shelf. He tinkered with the knob. It blinked awake. Mark smiled to himself, “It’s still got charge.” He placed it down in the center of the room, letting it illuminate the walls.

Jinyoung looked around. He’d never been in a treehouse before. There were shelves along the walls. Lined with books and jars and other knick knacks. There was a hammock strung up between two branches that weaved their way through the wood. There were posters of rock bands on the walls. There was a reading nook, a window seat that overlooked a green lawn that spread outwards.

“What is this place?” Jinyoung asked, still looking around.

“It was my treehouse,” Mark’s eyes scanned the shelves, looking for something in particular. “This was the best birthday gift my parents ever got me.”

Jinyoung’s neck snapped back to him. “Your parents?” he asked. “Is this their property?”

Mark nodded towards the window and Jinyoung went closer, looking over the lawn to the multistoried house in the distance. Most of the lights off this late at night. It was big. Bigger than a regular house. And there was something historical about it. Colonial brick and crisp white shutters. 

And Jinyoung took a moment before processing it. “That’s the president’s house,” he mumbled, almost to himself.

“Yep,” Mark agreed.

Jinyoung looked back at him. His mouth hanging open. “Your mom’s the president of the university?” he gaped. “Your mom is Dorine Tuan?”

And Jinyoung must have suddenly looked nervous. Because Mark huffed out a laugh. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve been here a few times since leaving. The property doesn't have any security this far out.” He turned back toward the shelves, “Ah ha. Here it is.” He grabbed a tin lunch box coming over. “Sit,” he instructed.

Jinyoung’s head was still reeling with realization and unable to protest Mark’s command. He sat down at the window seat, looking at the lunch box in his hands. “What is that?”

Mark popped open the metal latch, sorting through the contents. “First aid kit,” he said. He pulled out an enclosed antiseptic wipe, ripping it open with his sharp teeth and taking out the moist tissue. “Come here,” he put the lunch box to the side and reached out to hold Jinyoung’s chin with one hand. The other one pressed the wipe into his cheek.

Jinyoung winced a little at the sting, but didn’t pull away. Looking into Mark’s eyes. Seeing how they caught the low light of the lantern. That sparkle he kept senselessly chasing reflecting back. When he worked up the courage to speak, his voice was low, self-conscious, “Have you brought him here?” 

“Never,” Mark shook his head, brows creasing in concentration as he cleaned the wound. “He wouldn’t dare cross the tracks for too long. He used to say the air here stunk.”

Jinyoung felt the unconscious pull of his lips. Knowing that it sounded exactly like something Jaebeom would say. He imagined Jaebeom rolling up to the gate of the university president’s house in his battered car to drop Mark off, angry music loud and tires screeching off towards the tracks. And he understood immediately that novelty of Jaebeom that excited Mark in the first place. But it made his mind go to places it didn’t want to go. He toyed his fingers together in his lap. “You haven’t brought him here, yet you brought me here?”

“Well, yeah,” Mark shrugged, not meeting his eyes. Hyperfocusing on his cheek as he kept dabbing at it. “I don’t know. You get that part of my life in a way that he wouldn’t. And therefore, you understand my future too. What I’m hoping to come back to one day.”

Jinyoung was trying not to hear himself in the mentioning of the future but it was too easy for his brain to connect the dots and leave him feeling warm. His palms went to Mark’s thighs, dragging upwards slowly. “I do understand.”

Mark’s attention was finally pulled away. Looking back into his eyes and smiling shyly. “I…” he hesitated around the words. “I liked your song tonight.”

Jinyoung thought back to the way the drummer’s eyes had cast downward, sticks folded across his firm chest. So distant from the fantasy he’d worked up all week. “You didn’t seem to be enjoying it.”

The smile fell a little. He held a gulp in his throat. “He was watching.”

And some sort of timidness hiding behind Mark’s eyes drew back Jinyoung’s doubts and suspicions. His hands stilled against his legs. And the words didn’t come out like a question, nor an assumption, but a fact. “You’re still sleeping with him.”

Mark pulled away. He leaned up against the wall behind him. He looked out at the lawn, biting at the inside of his lips. A nervous line running between his shoulder blades. He looked back. “Sometimes.”

Jinyoung leaned back too, withdrawing his hands. He held his breath. “I didn’t think you’d want to.”

Mark shook his head. “I don’t, really.”

Jinyoung narrowed his eyes. “Then, why do you do it?”

Mark sighed. “I don’t know, Jinyoung.”

“Then think about it.”

“I don’t know,” Mark said, a little firmer. He thought for a moment. “I guess…” he collected himself. “I guess it’s just a bad habit.”

Jinyoung leaned his head back, looking down his nose with a challenging gaze. “Well, he seems to think it’s more than that.”

Mark scoffed. “Of course he does. He’s delusional.”

Jinyoung thought of Jaebeom’s face. How sure the front man had seemed. How angry and callous he’d been. 

_You don’t know him at all, do you?_

Jinyoung pushed through the doubt. “What about me?”

“What about you?”

“Am I being delusional?” Jinyoung stared back. “To think that there is something more here?” He motioned between them.

Mark sighed. “I can’t make promises, Jinyoung,” he shook his head. “You must be able to see that.”

“I don’t need promises,” Jinyoung said, sitting up. “I’m not looking for forever. I’m just looking to know that I’m not the only one here.”

Mark slowly exhaled the heavy breath in his chest. He leaned forward slowly, unsettled eyes and twisted mouth coming closer and closer until Jinyoung could feel the heat from his face, the breath through his nose. 

Jinyoung’s eyes flicked down, seeing Mark’s lip between his teeth. Wearing and wearing. A pause in time. A pause between breaths.

But then Mark was closing any remaining space, pressing his lips against Jinyoung’s. Soft and hesitant but still that torturously sweet precision. 

Jinyoung’s head spun. Feeling the way they filled each other’s spaces like the teeth of a zipper.

Mark pulled away, keeping his face close. His hand working up to the back of Jinyoung’s neck. Warm and soft, sliding against the skin. And when he spoke, his voice was so soft and deep that Jinyoung felt it everywhere. “I wish I didn’t,” he said. “Because it would make my life a hell of a lot easier if I didn’t like you. Hell, it would make your life easier too.”

Jinyoung felt the swell of his chest. All his doubts and hesitations suddenly miles away. Forgotten. His hands reached back up Mark’s thighs. “I don’t care about easy,” he grabbed at him, dragging him closer. “I just wanna be yours.” 

Mark laughed. That bright smile back where it belonged. “God, you’re too much. You know that?”

“You like it,” Jinyoung’s smile grew, mirroring him. “You like me.”

Mark’s eyes sparkled, focusing and refocusing. Taking all of Jinyoung in. That small, sharp smile still pressed against his face. Unconscious and honest and Jinyoung cursed himself for ever doubting anything about him. 

Now, Jinyoung didn’t feel so shameful about his encounter with Jaebeom. Because after all, Jaebeom was the idiot. It was Jaebeom who didn't know what Mark and Jinyoung had was real. And Jinyoung would have to show him. Prove that he had the higher ground the whole time. He’d show the whole goddamn world if he had to.

“You like me,” Jinyoung repeated, voice warm and soft. His hands going up into Mark’s shirt and feeling at the skin across his firm back. Each brush of his fingers dancing across his ribs.

Mark shrugged, still that small smile present. “Maybe so,” he said, his arms coming up around his neck. “But you talk too much.”

Jinyoung craned his face closer. Whispering out, “Then shut me up.”

Mark’s smile brightened before he closed the space between them again. Lips pressing and filling all the space. Insistent and fierce.

Jinyoung kissed him back, but leaned himself away slightly. Lessening that pressure until it was barely anything. Until it was so achingly gentle and earnest. His fingertips grazing softly up his back. Trying to send some kind of message. That this didn’t have to be so vicious. So similar to all Mark had had in the past. But instead it could be something totally different.

Mark’s body let out a shiver against his fingers. And without prompting, the boy let out the smallest of whines into Jinyoung’s mouth. Pitched high and faint. As if the softness was enough to make everything in him ache for more. 

Jinyoung felt himself flush with heat. He took those fingers against Mark’s back and drew him closer until their chests brushed together, looping one around the nape of his neck as he licked into his mouth. Swallowing down that whine and trying to draw the next one out.

And it came, a little less faint. A little more force behind it. Perking Jinyoung’s ears and making them feel red. The heat running like sweat down the back of his neck, down until it pooled in his lap.

Jinyoung’s mouth kissed down his jaw, into his neck. Just as gentle there, lips barely brushing against the skin.

Mark whined again, maybe more like a whimper this time when it came out.

Jinyoung smiled. “Do you have something to say?” he murmured, kissing against him more.

Mark groaned, frustrated and wanting. His arms going to Jinyoung’s waist. “Come on,” he pulled him down towards the floor, letting go and lying on his back. He looked to him, expectedly. 

Jinyoung smirked, crawling over him on his hands and knees. One of his hands going up to push the hair out of his face before smoothing down his cheek. His thumb finding its way to the center of his lower lip and dragging against it.

Mark’s smile grew in response. His mouth opening and taking the thumb between his lips, swirling his tongue against it. Bright eyes looking back up at him. The light of the lantern casting beautiful shadows against his features.

Jinyoung lowered himself closer and closer until their noses were brushing. And he dragged that thumb away again, letting Mark’s mouth fall open just so he could lick into it again.

Mark immediately gasped into it like he knew exactly what was coming, arching up into him. Hands smoothing over him, a little more brazen than before.

Jinyoung pulled away, sitting in Mark’s lap. He began to fumble his fingers down the buttons on his shirt until he was tugging it off his shoulders.

Mark watched, smiling before reaching down and grabbing the ends of his shirt to drag it over his head.

Jinyoung looked over Mark’s torso. Narrowing his eyes in the low light. Wondering if the shadows were playing tricks on him. Because across his skin lay patches of purpling red. “What are these?” Jinyoung asked, running his thumbs over them. “Who put these on you?”

The sparkle in Mark’s eyes dulled immediately. He didn’t say a word. Everything about him went quiet. The answer going unspoken. The bruises gleamed back in the light. Each one like a warning. Meant to speak for him.

Jinyoung didn’t wait for him to answer but instead, leaned down, kissing his shoulder. Gentle at first but then shifting, biting down into the skin alongside a bruise. Sucking the flesh into his mouth and feeling it swell. Mouthing against it until he was confident it would leave a mark. 

He pulled away, finding the next one on Mark’s chest and diving in to do the same thing.

Mark hissed through his teeth. His hands pushed against his chest. “Jinyoung,” he whimpered. “Don’t.”

Jinyoung pushed his arms away. “No,” he bit out, talking into his skin. “No. I want him to see. I want him to know.” Because if Jaebeom wanted war, then Mark’s body would have to be the battlefield.

Mark shuddered underneath him. “Fuck,” he whined, slightly arching his hips up in response.

So Jinyoung took his time. Going over each and every mark and putting one beside it. Knowing how fresh they looked. And he put enough of the clues together. Imagining Jaebeom backstage at the Balaclava, biting them into Mark’s skin with just as much ruthlessness as he had on stage. And it made him so mad. It made him feel like he had something to prove. That only he could touch Mark the way he deserved to be touched. Love him the way he deserved to be loved. And maybe that was selfish but Jinyoung didn’t care in the moment. He was too focused on proving his point.

He continued, working his way down until he was mouthing at one against Mark’s hip bone, feeling the press of his hardened cock against his chest and the squirm of his whole body underneath, when the boy spoke up.

“J-jinyoung,” he stuttered.

He looked up from where he’d been working, feeling how red and swollen his lips were getting.

Mark’s eyes were heavy, his throat bobbing when he swallowed before speaking. “There’s more.”

Jinyoung wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He crawled off him. “Show me.”

Mark’s hands went to the fly of his jeans, working them open and shoving them down his legs until he could kick them off.

Jinyoung hands went to his slim thighs, smoothing up and inspecting. Pushing up the legs of his red boxer briefs to expose more of his radiant skin, not failing to notice the dotting of precum leaking through. And in the light, he could see a few more marks peppering his thighs. He looked up. “Are these all of them?”

Mark exhaled, nostrils flaring. He shook his head. His hands went to the waistband of his underwear, slowly combing over his body on the way there. Easing them down off his hips until he sprung free.

Jinyoung hands went to his hips, feeling over the smooth concaves that sunk between them. Further and further down. And directly in the slope of his pelvis, against the skin just northwest of his flushed cock, lay the biggest one of all of them. Glaringly purple, the imprint of Jaebeom’s smirking mouth clear enough to trace.

Jinyoung licked his lips hungrily, leaning down and starting with the ones on his thighs. Gently mouthing at them, lips and tongue and teeth sucking into the skin.

And with each one, getting closer and closer, Mark whimpered a little louder. Each noise a little more lewd, falling from his mouth. Eventually raising himself up on his elbows to watch. Furrowing his brows and biting on his lips, trying to keep from writhing.

Jinyoung finally got to the last one, craning his head northeast and digging into the smooth, taut flesh there.

Mark moaned loud, his hips momentarily kicking up in response.

Jinyoung placed his hands on his hip bones, grounding him into that wood floor. Then he reached up, putting his thumb back in Mark’s mouth, feeling him whine around it. Tongue warmly lapping against it. He pulled it out, hand traveling further down his body until he was lining it up his entrance. Kneading the skin there. All while teething him.

“Jinyoung,” he breathed. “Please.”

Jinyoung pushed in, tightness encircling him. He pressed further, working it out and back in. The way it got a little softer each time. He pulled his mouth off, looking down and admiring the reddened skin. The way it complimented the redness of his cock that leaked out onto his stomach. Smirking in satisfaction before putting two fingers into his own mouth. Taking them out just to push them into him.

Mark pulled himself up, reaching out and pulling Jinyoung’s neck closer. Kissing him hard, his tongue relieving the swollen ache of his mouth.

Jinyoung worked his fingers against him. Firmer and firmer. Catching all the loose, desperate sounds falling from his mouth. Managing to fit a third in alongside the others.

Mark pulled away, pointing emphatically. “My jeans,” he said. “Toss them to me.”

Jinyoung titled his head, confused but complying. Grabbing them and handing them over.

Mark felt the pockets until he pulled out a bottle of lube. He kept it in his lap as his hands went to Jinyoung’s pants, working clumsily over the clasp. His own ignored hardness pressing against Mark’s wrists as he worked. He shoved the pants down just enough before he was uncapping the bottle, squeezing it into his open palm and reaching out. He fisted over Jinyoung, who shuddered against it. He pulled his hand away, leaning back onto his elbows and looking up at him. His yearning unspoken but written on his face. In the way that his sparkling eyes were wide and his mouth was small. 

Jinyoung’s hands went to his hips, hoisting him a little higher so that they could meet. He pressed in, losing a breath at the feeling. Watching Mark’s face contort in pleasure as he dragged Mark’s hips away just to yank them back. The heatedness that Jinyoung had been ignoring in favor of giving Mark the attention he deserved was now burning through him. Taking over everything. He grabbed Mark’s knee, pushing it up and looking down to watch the sight of him stretched around him.

Mark watched too, groaning and clenching his teeth. Trying to work his hips down farther, trying to get as much as he could.

Jinyoung kept going, not caring about the bruises that would likely bloom on his knees from the hard floor. In fact, hoping he’d get them so that he and Mark could match. He felt each thrust getting deeper and more fluid. He reached his hand out, fisting Mark’s cock. The other hand still pushing up his knee.

“Oh, fuck,” Mark groaned, hips kicking up into it unconsciously. “Jinyoung. Stop, you're gonna make me cum first.”

“You should cum first,” Jinyoung panted. “You should always cum first.”

Mark groaned, before collecting his words again. “No,” he seethed. “You. I want it to be you first.” He grabbed Jinyoung’s wrist, pulling it off of him and raising it to his mouth. He took his fingers into his mouth, lapping at the precum that had spread itself down the undersides of Jinyoung’s knuckles. And when he did it, he hummed like it was everything he wanted. 

Jinyoung moaned, his hips moving more fiercely now against Mark. His brows creasing and his eyes glazing over as he watched him, feeling the press of his diligent tongue. Everything about him so beautiful and vivid in ways he didn’t think possible. And Jinyoung couldn’t last much longer. Only a few punctuated thrusts until he was eclipsing. Groaning and groaning until the sounds became whines and the whines became whimpers.

Jinyoung was spent. Only wanting to collapse against Mark and wait for his breaths to even out but he knew he couldn’t. He knew that the urge to please Mark was so much stronger.

He took those three fingers again, leveraging them back into Mark. The slide of his own cum making it that much easier now. And he leaned back down, mouth attaching back onto that bruise in the concaves of his pelvis. The one that mirrored Jaebeom’s. He mouthed at it again.

And it must have been extra tender now because Mark nearly wailed, catching the sound in his throat before his hands clasped over his own mouth to muffle it.

“God,” Jinyoung scoffed. “You fucking love this, don’t you? My mouth on you and my fingers in you.”

Mark’s eyes crescented, his hands still over his mouth. He nodded quickly.

Jinyoung licked at the spot, looking up at him. “I bet I could get you to cum just like this.”

Mark shuddered underneath him, his eyes defocusing and focusing again.

Jinyoung took out his drenched fingers and with them traced pressed into the mark on the left, the one in the shape of Jaebeom’s mouth. “Did you cum when he did it?” he asked.

Mark was still for a moment, shame filling his eyes. He shook his head.

Jinyoung tutted his tongue against his teeth. “Well, you will this time. And when you look down at these, you’ll remember it. Remember me. Okay?”

Mark nodded again, even harder now.

Jinyoung smirked, returning his mouth to the skin, his fingers inside. Curling up into him and watching his face twist as he tried to keep his body still. He kept going. With more force, more everything. 

Mark pulled his hands away from his mouth. “Jinyoung,” he whimpered. “Please. I’m so close.” His chest rising and falling in a quick rhythm. “I like you so much, Jinyoung. You’re so fucking perfect.”

The sound of Mark’s voice flipped a switch Jinyoung didn’t know he had. He got greedier. His teeth coming out and gritting into the bruise. Tongue pressing up against it. Lips fitting over, ruthlessly sucking. Nothing gentle in it now. No, Mark made him senseless in ways he’d never known possible. That confident, collected exterior breaking down to nothing but chaos at the sound of his praise.

Mark’s body shuddered. His eyes screwed shut. He lifted himself up, hips quivering against Jinyoung’s mouth. “Fuck,” he sighed and kept repeating. Going higher and higher until it nearly sounded like crying. Gasping as he came across the skin of his muscled torso.

Jinyoung pulled off of him. Resting his chin against his hip. Looking up into his face. Watching the smile grow. Bright and pointed. Mirroring it.

Mark’s hands went up to his face, covering it. “Stop looking at me like that,” he said, a blush of his cheeks peeking through his fingers.

“Never,” Jinyoung laughed. He sat up, grabbing at Mark’s wrists and pulling them away. “I’m always gonna look at you like this. Like you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Mark sighed. Eyes sparkling back. He leaned forward, kissing him. Once again, soft and gentle. He pulled away, looking into his face.

“So,” Jinyoung murmured. His eyes flicking down to Mark’s mouth and watching the way his teeth pulled at his lip. “What now? Where do we go from here?”

Mark sighed, something unequivocally dreamy in it. “We’re here,” he shrugged. His fingers reaching up to comb into Jinyoung’s hair. “We may as well go too far.”

And Jinyoung’s chest widened with a breath. Looking into his eyes and feeling so completely enamoured. Despite every red flag that seemed to doom them. But he didn’t care. He was living moment by moment and eager to savor each and every one of them.

He kissed him. Again. And again. He smiled against his mouth. “Come home with me,” he whispered. “I wanna sleep next to you.”

Mark pulled away looking into his eyes. He smiled. All white and radiant despite the low light. “Okay,” he nodded.

So they cleaned up and got dressed and climbed back down the treehouse ladder and over the fence. Finding Jinyoung’s car right where they left it. The neighborhood was still sleepy and quiet, as if Mark and Jinyoung only ever existed out of the world’s watchful eyeline. But Jinyoung didn’t care. He was perfectly fine with that as long as he had him. They drove the short length home, pulling off their shoes at the door and tiptoeing to Jinyoung’s room. They pulled off their clothes, Jinyoung throwing him a tshirt and climbing into bed with him. 

They lay there for a while just whispering and giggling, fingers in hair and on cheeks. But eventually, it was Mark who fell asleep first. In Jinyoung’s arms. And as Jinyoung held him, he felt the way the boy burned hot in his sleep. And as he too was drifting off, he wondered why. He wondered what Mark was running from in his dreams.  
  


\---

**“And we're struggling with the notion that it's life, not film.”**

It was early morning when Jinyoung drove Mark home. The light still blue from dawn and the neighborhood sleepy as the sprinklers clicked across the manicured lawns. Mark had his window rolled down, fingers feeling through the dewy air. And Jinyoung was trying to keep his eyes on the road. Trying to keep from watching him. Feeling nearly like he couldn’t breathe at the thought of Mark leaving his side. But Mark had insisted that he needed to get back. So they crossed over the tracks, driving until they pulled into his complex.

As Jinyoung rolled up to the building, he saw him. Sitting on the stoop. 

His shaggy hair was unintentionally messy and he was still in the same clothes as last night, like maybe he hadn’t fallen asleep at all. An ashtray sat beside him on the concrete step, a flower of cigarette butts blooming from it. And when they came to stop, Jinyoung caught his eyes. Feeling a prick of fear run up his spine. But as Jaebeom looked back, he didn’t look the same as last night. Not fierce and angry. No. Now, all his reddened eyes held was hurt. As if the fire in him had been extinguished to smoking ash.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Mark asked.

And Jinyoung was shaken, looking back to Mark. “Tomorrow?”

Mark smirked. “The Cirque Berserk Festival? Aren’t you guys lined up for both days?”

And Jinyoung rushed to remember. He’d never attended the Cirque Berserk Festival before. He’d heard about it vaguely from other friends and classmates in his three years he’d been going to school there but the idea of spending two days with a sweaty, drunken crowd pushing and shoving for subpar entertainment and camping in the dirt had never enthused him. And for his first time attending, he never expected that he’d be performing. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “We’ll be there.”

Mark smiled softly. “I’ll see you there then.” He unbuckled his seatbelt, starting to leave.

Jinyoung’s hand went to his thigh, stopping him. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” his eyes flicked up to Jaebeom. “With him?”

Mark looked over to Jaebeom on the stoop. Watching him rise to his feet and put his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. That same look of pain dulling his sharp features.

Mark sighed, looking back. “Yeah,” he nodded, voice low. “I mean. He can’t kick me out anymore. Cause he knows where I’ll go.” He gave a small smile.

Jinyoung felt the spinning of his head.

Mark started to get out again. “I’ll see you.”

“Wait,” Jinyoung grabbed him once more. He held his breath. His fingers brushing against the inside of the drummer’s thigh. “Kiss me goodbye.”

“Jinyoung,” Mark huffed, rolling his eyes. “Stop.”

“What?” Jinyoung laughed. “Come on.” He worked his hand higher into his lap. “One for the road.”

Mark grabbed it, tossing it away. “Enough,” he said firmly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And Jinyoung felt a little dejected as he watched Mark get out of the car, slamming the door behind him. He walked up the path to the apartment, not so much as looking at Jaebeom but instead just maneuvering past him to go inside.

And Jaebeom stayed there, looking at Jinyoung. His jaw tight and his eyes fighting something. And Jinyoung thought he might come up and try to start something but he didn’t. He just turned himself and went inside after Mark.

When he got home, Bambam was on his knees in front of Youngjae. And Jinyoung stopped in his tracks, looking up to Youngjae’s face.

“Hey,” the boy smiled. “What do you think?”

And Bambam pulled away to reveal the khaki shorts he was adjusting the side seam for. On his legs, Youngjae wore white knee high socks. And on top, a teal button down that was peppered with brightly colored patches. A light green bandana tied around the neck.

Jinyoung clutched his chest, sighing a breath of relief. Collecting himself before speaking. “Are we park rangers now?” he asked, tossing his keys into the basket.

Youngjae brushed his palms over the shirt, “Bam said it’s a boy scout concept. Since it’s an outdoor festival.”

Bambam went back to pinning. “Stay still,” he groaned. “Unless you want to get blood on these shorts.”

Youngjae scoffed, stiffening where he stood. “Hey,” he called out to Jinyoung. “What’s that on your cheek?”

And Jinyoung’s hand immediately went up to his face, feeling over the wound that had started to harden into a scab. “Oh, this?” he tried to bide time while he thought of something.

Bambam turned to look up at him too, inspecting his face. “Woah, that looks gnarly.”

Youngjae narrowed his eyes. “Does it have anything to do with why you came home so late last night?”

Jinyoung froze. “What makes you think I came home late?”

“You were loud as hell coming in,” Youngjae scoffed. “And don’t think I didn’t notice those Chucks by the door that definitely weren’t yours.”

Bambam perked up, “Did you meet someone last night at the bar? Was it a groupie pining for our frontman?”

Jinyoung’s nerves flooded him. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Hey now, I don’t really think that’s any of your-”

Bambam gasped. “So that’s why you have the cut on your cheek.” He nudged Youngjae. “See. I told you he was into that sort of stuff.”

“Bam,” Jinyoung narrowed his eyes. “Please. I tripped on the way to my car last night. Keyed the paint on accident. You can see for yourselves.” He beckoned towards the front door.

“And the Chucks?” Youngjae’s eyebrows went up. “Were they an accident, too?”

Jinyoung worked his tongue into his cheek. Not being able to come up with a lie fast enough. “No. Not an accident.”

They both looked at him with anticipation across their faces. But when Jinyoung didn’t say anything, Bam spoke first, “So are you gonna-”

“No,” Jinyoung cut him off. “I’m not telling you anything. So don’t ask.” And with that he went to his room, halting any possibility for further conversation.

The next day, they got to the grounds midday. The festival only had three stages and Fluorescent Adolescents, as one of the emerging local favorites, was scheduled for the mainstage in the late afternoon before Brainstorm closed out the evening with a set nearly twice the time of their usual shows at the Balaclava. 

The soundcheck happened before the attendees were let onto the grounds, one of the local parks being blocked off for the day. The heat was sweltering and Jinyoung was glad he wasn’t wearing those white knee highs quite yet. And as they checked, he looked out over the main stage to the lawn of yellowing grass in the summer heat trying to imagine it full of people in a few hours. 

When they finished the check, Brainstorm was next. And Mark came up in a white muscle tank and cutoff jeans. Jinyoung made a move to pass closely by him, grabbing his arm and pulling their sides together. “God, you look good,” he whispered.

“Shut up,” Mark murmured, smirking at the floor.

“Come find me later,” Jinyoung squeezed him. “Okay?”

And Mark nodded, pulling away and taking a seat at his drum set. Adjusting his kit while still looking on at him with warm eyes.

And Jinyoung held his gaze until he felt a thud at his back, hard enough to make him step forward and catch himself. 

Jaebeom had bumped past him as he made his way towards center stage. “You done, Jinyoung?” he asked, haughty eyebrows raising one above the other.

Jinyoung pressed his lips into a firm line. “It’s all yours, Jaebeom. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Jaebeom smirked. “By the way,” he tapped at his cheek, titling it upward. “Looks good. Who gave it to you?”

Jinyoung didn’t say anything. He just kept his face placid as he turned away, walking down the stage steps.

The gates opened up soon after and the festival began. Mostly smaller local groups with a few acts from out of town as well playing at each of the three stages. And Jinyoung, Bambam, and Youngjae ambled around, watching some of them from a distance until it was time for their show.

In reality, the show wasn’t much different than their previous ones. But the crowd felt so much bigger. The other stages had started to close out in preparation for Brainstorm’s headlining performance so hundreds of people were piled in close to hear their set. The sun was nearly set, painting everything in the rosy golden shades of dusk.

At some point between songs, Jinyoung was killing time while Youngjae got the next track set up and a girl in the front row called out to him. Her voice was screaming and slurred and nearly unintelligible.

“What?” he asked into the mic, leaning in towards her spot on the barricade to try and hear her.

She was wearing a bikini top and her hair was seemingly every color of the rainbow. She collected herself again. “I said,” she slurred. “What’s your favorite patch?” She pointed up to him. “On your shirt.”

“What’s my favorite patch?” Jinyoung repeated out loud, widening his eyes. He looked down, suddenly remembering he was in a boy scout uniform. He surveyed the patches quickly. “This one,” he pointed. “It’s a hand like this.” He held up his three fingers in a salute before reaching down and uncapping a bottle of water.

The girl smiled, holding herself over the metal bar to be heard. “What did you get it for?”

“What did I get it for?” he repeated again. He took a swig of water before replacing the cap. He ducked down to the mic. “For fingering your boyfriend.”

The crowd cheered and Jinyoung laughed, putting the water down and running his pick back and forth over a chord for added effect. He looked over to the side stage, wondering what he’d see. Mark was standing in between Yugyeom and Jackson and while all three of them were laughing, it couldn’t be compared to the sparkling joy that showed in Mark’s eyes. His smile so wide that it crescented his eyes until they were just rosy, golden light shining back and making Jinyoung feel warm.

And then Jinyoung’s eyes shifted behind them. Seeing Jaebeom’s towering shoulders, his shaggy hair slicked back. And he wasn’t laughing. No, he was, as expected, looking back with sharp eyes and his arms crossed over his chest. Nothing like that quiet hurt that Jinyoung had seen yesterday. And Jinyoung wondered if he got back that fire that had temporarily fizzled out.

He pulled himself from the thought. “Youngjae,” he called out, trying to cut the tension. “Are you ready yet or what?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Youngjae grimaced, talking into his own mic. “Just go for it. I’m ready.”

And Jinyoung counted off, launching into another song.

By the time the last song rolled around, the navy blue night had fallen over the open summer sky. Youngjae and Bambam had said their goodbyes, leaving Jinyoung on the stage picking a melody out from the chords to the newest song.

“Are you guys still with me?” Jinyoung asked them, hearing a collective cheer in return. “Question for you all. How many of you are in love right now?” A fair amount of screams echoing back. “And how many of you are here with the person you are in love with?” He waited for their response, taking it in. Picking along that melody.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he smiled. “Because this is the last song of our set. And some of you may have heard it the other night at the Balaclava.” A few whoops peaked above the crowd. “But I’ll admit, when I sang it then, I was too scared to say who it was for,” he shook his head. “But tonight, I don’t know if it’s all of you here or how beautiful this night is but,” he smiled. “I’m not scared anymore.”

“So if you’re with someone tonight that you are in love with, can you tell them with me please? So that I’m not the only one looking like an ass?” he laughed, hearing the howls from the crowd. “Thanks for that.” He looked over to the side stage. Seeing Mark still slotted between Jackson and Yugyeom. His perfect face paper white and his eyes wide. 

He felt the stirring in his chest. A storm that would never quiet. “Mark,” he smiled. “This one’s for you. I love you.” And he could barely hear the strumming of his chords over the sudden din of the crowd.

When he finished, he came off stage, looking around for Mark but not seeing him. He padded down the steps but as soon as his feet hit the dirt, he felt someone grabbing his arm. He looked back, seeing Mark dragging him. Jinyoung laughed, “Excuse me, sir. But you have a few hundred people waiting to see you.”

Mark shook his head, still dragging him, “Let them wait.”

Once they were around the corner, behind the stage, Mark pushed at Jinyoung’s hips, backing him up against a truss and kissing him.

Jinyoung felt dizzy, letting his hands go to Mark’s ribs and feeling through his tank.

“You’re so goddamn stupid, Jinyoung,” Mark hissed, biting at his lip.

“Is that so?” Jinyoung smiled against his mouth.

“What am I gonna tell Jackson and Yugyeom?”

Jinyoung laughed, “Tell them there’s another crazy frontman after you. I’m sure they’ll believe you. They’ve seen you after all.”

“Jinyoung,” Mark sighed, smiling. His mouth went to Jinyoung’s ear as his hips pushed up against his. “Where is your guys’ tent?”

Jinyoung’s shivered at the rush of sudden pressure. “Tent?” he nearly whimpered, not comprehending with the flood of other senses being hijacked.

“Aren’t you staying here tonight?” Mark kissed into his neck.

“No,” Jinyoung pushed a little at his chest, catching his eyes. “Why would I? I have a real bed at home.”

Mark licked his lips, face going a little shy. “It’s fun,” he offered. “We’ve been coming here ever since we started the band. We always stay in tents. Hang out. Light fires. Drink. You know, boy scout stuff.” He tugged a little on the green bandana around Jinyoung’s neck.

Jinyoung hummed, reaching out and running his thumb against Mark’s lower lip. “Well, I’m not a real scout. I just play one on stage.”

Mark didn’t laugh, instead his mind seemed elsewhere. The brightness in his face shifting as he thought. “I’ll come home with you tonight,” he said, softly.

Jinyoung blinked before shaking his head. “No,” he laughed. “You said you wanted to stay. You should stay. Have fun with your friends.”

“It’s fine,” Mark shook his head. “I’d rather be with you anyway.”

“Really?” Jinyoung’s eyes widened with genuine surprise.

“Really,” Mark smiled. He twisted his fingers in the green bandana, pulling him in again to kiss him. Sliding his tongue against his mouth and both of them opening up into it.

Jinyoung felt the tug of that bandana a little firmer as Mark pulled it from around his neck. He laughed against Mark’s mouth, “What are you doing?” 

“Taking what’s mine,” Mark pulled away. He rolled the bandana up, bringing it around his head and tying it into place. He adjusted his bangs in the front, letting them lay over it. Harkening back to the night they met. “How’s it look?”

Jinyoung reached up, combing a stray tuft of hair down with his fingers. “Perfect,” he whispered, looking at all of him. “You’re perfect.”

Mark smiled bright. He brought him in, kissing him again, “Find me after the show, okay?”

Jinyoung nodded. “Okay.”

Jinyoung didn’t watch Brainstorm’s set. No, instead he rushed to grab his things and head for his car. Running a few impromptu errands before returning. When he came back to look for Mark, he was drawn in by the glow of a large fire pit. And around it, a small crowd of musicians that had played during the day were drinking and socializing.

His eyes scanned for Mark, finding Bambam first. He was talking to Yugyeom, both of them with cans of beer in hand. He went over to where they were talking.

“Well if it isn’t the Romeo of the hour,” Bambam called as he approached. “Where have you been?”

Jinyoung sighed. “The better question is why didn’t you put pockets in these shorts?” he mocked, holding out his hands full of his phone and car keys.

Bambam looked offended. “I’m sorry. Do you know how long it took to make those patches?”

Jinyoung huffed. “Can you just take my car keys and put them in my guitar case when you have a minute?”

“Sure,” Bambam took them from him. “Where are you going?”

And Jinyoung was about to answer when he caught the eyes of someone sitting behind Bambam’s shoulder. Staring back at him was Jaebeom, a cigarette perched between his lips and a bottle of beer in hand. Jinyoung pulled himself back to Bambam’s question. “None of your business. I’ll see you tomorrow at soundcheck, okay?”

“Jinyoung,” Yugyeom spoke up. “If you’re looking for Mark, I saw him going to get a drink at the coolers over there.”

“Thanks, Yugyeom,” he waved to both of them, heading in the direction he’d pointed to. He spotted Mark talking to someone Jinyoung vaguely recognized from the local scene. Smiling politely and still wearing that light green bandana around his head. But as soon as they locked eyes, Mark wrapped up the conversation and started to walk towards him.

“There you are,” Mark smiled. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Jinyoung reached out, grabbing his hip and pulling him close. “Walk with me,” he said just soft enough for him to hear.

“Aren’t we going home?” Mark blinked.

“No,” Jinyoung shook his head. “Come on. Let me show you.” He grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together and starting to walk off from the fire pit. And as he looked up, he saw Jaebeom glaring back. Venom in his eyes as the blacks of them reflected that glowing fire. But Jinyoung couldn’t bother worrying about him. Not anymore. So he forced himself to look away.

Jinyoung and Mark walked down a paved path that snaked through a grove of trees. And when they emerged on the other side, it led to a different part of the park that was untouched by the festival. A lawn of grass opening up beside a dark lake. On the center of the lawn, glowed an orange tent.

“What is this?” Mark asked as they walked up to it.

“Well,” Jinyoung asked. “You wanted to camp, right? So I went out and got us a tent.”

“Jinyoung,” Mark laughed. He unzipped the front, looking inside to see a ceiling decorated with battery powered fairy lights. He crawled inside, looking up around him. The lights catching on the sparkle of his eyes.

Jinyoung stooped down to the entrance. “Do you like it?”

Mark’s mouth hung open, trying to find the words. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“Mark,” Jinyoung huffed. He crawled inside sitting next to him. “It’s not much. It’s just a tent and some lights.”

Mark shook his head. “It’s not just that,” he said. “You listened to me. And you did something that I wanted even though it wasn’t what you wanted.”

“Of course, I did,” Jinyoung reached out, grabbing his hand. “I’m always going to listen to you. I’m always going to try to give you what you want. I want to make you happy, Mark.”

Mark looked back at him. His voice coming out soft. “Do you really mean that?”

Jinyoung smiled. “Of course, I do. I’m saying it, am I not?”

Mark looked down. “Well, saying it and meaning it are two different things.”

Jinyoung put his finger under Mark’s chin, drawing his gaze upwards. “Mark,” he said, surely. “I mean it. I want to make you happy. More than anything.”

Mark drew in a deep breath, looking down to Jinyoung’s clothes. He laughed. “I can’t believe you’re still wearing this outfit.”

Jinyoung raised his eyebrows. “You should have seen me standing in line at the store.”

“Oh god,” Mark laughed, bright and loud. 

“But I have to say,” Jinyoung’s fingers went up, tapping at the tie of the bandana around Mark’s head. “This looks way better on you.”

Mark hissed through his teeth, tilting his head to the side. “I disagree.”

“Really?” Jinyoung smirked.

Mark’s arms went up, untying that bandana from around his head. “Really,” he nodded. “I think you just need to try wearing it a little differently.” He started refolding it in his lap.

“What do you mean?” Jinyoung questioned, watching him.

Mark folded it into a long wide strip. “Here,” he said, reaching up and placing it over Jinyoung’s eyes. 

Jinyoung felt a warm flush trickle down his neck as Mark’s fingers worked to secure it in the back. And then Mark’s hands were gone. He felt a hot breath against his ear. “How’s that?”

Jinyoung swallowed, his body on high alert. “Good.”

“Good.” He felt Mark push his chest until he was lying on his back on the floor of the tent. The lights from above brightening the green against his eyes. 

The first thing he felt was Mark’s fingers under his calf. His leg lifting into the air. And when Mark had it propped up, he let the fingers on his other hand snag into the top of his knee sock and start working it down his leg, torturously slow. And when he had exposed the inside of his ankle, Jinyoung felt Mark’s soft lips kissing against it. The sweet sensation moving in a straight line to Jinyoung’s groin. Once Mark worked the sock all the way off, he went to the other leg, doing the same thing. Taking his hands off him completely again.

Jinyoung lay there again, untouched. Trying to anticipate what was coming next.

Mark’s hand was suddenly against his lap, pressing firmly down against his hardening cock.

Jinyoung arched into it, a breath shuddering out of him.

He felt Mark’s hot breath on his ear again. “You were so cheeky today, Jinyoung,” he said, voice low and rumbling. “Telling hundreds of people that you loved me. Why would you do something like that?”

Jinyoung felt the heat all over. Flooding every inch of him between his ears and his lap. “Cause you deserve it,” he whispered out. “You deserve to be loved out loud. For everyone to hear it.”

Mark sucked in a breath, his hand pressing down harder. “And what about you? What about what you deserve?”

Jinyoung’s ears perked. The heat enveloping everything, soaking through his clothes, filling the tight space of the tent. “Show me, Mark,” he choked out under the press of Mark’s hand. “Show me what I deserve.”

Mark’s hand pulled off of him again, leaving him groaning, frustrated. The next thing that he felt were Mark’s fingers against his chest, unbuttoning each little button on his boy scout shirt and pushing it off his shoulders.

Then nothing again until he heard the squelch of Mark’s mouth. But with no sensation on him, he was left to imagine Mark’s fingers between his lips. And he must have been right because the next feeling was Mark’s slick finger running down his torso and landing at the clasp of his shorts.

Mark felt him through the shorts again, how he was completely hard now. From anticipation alone. He worked his fingers up the clasp, folding it together in one hand and pulling down the zipper. The sound of each little tooth resonating in Jinyoung’s ears. And Mark worked his hands into the waistband, working both pants and underwear off his hips in one motion. Until they were off and on some plane of existence that Jinyoung couldn’t focus on. At least not when Mark’s hands were carefully peeling his thighs back to sit between them.

Mark took his hands off and Jinyoung felt nothing. The seconds passed like minutes. And as he lay there, naked and flayed, he felt how every nerve ending was shredded. Fraying apart and trying to grasp onto anything. And he felt so desperate for any kind of touch. Any kind of sound. Anything to ground him. 

What seized total control of him was Mark ‘s tongue pressing up against the head of his cock. And it was so surprising that it made him moan low, those nerves setting ablaze as he realized what was coming. He felt the sharp drag of Mark’s tongue across the skin. Just faint enough to leave him wanting more.

He felt nothing again. The throbbing in his ears only alerting him to how much time was passing. He lay there empty and hollow and begging. “Mark, please,” he pleaded.

And suddenly, Mark closed his mouth around Jinyoung. Hot like the summer night. Like the burn of that fire pit. And it seared all of him. Causing him to choke around his moan.

Mark started to work his mouth against him. Sure, firm strokes of his taut lips. His tongue swirling around. That perfect rhythm that only a drummer could set so confidently. He worked him mercilessly. But by now, Jinyoung’s nerves were so open that the intensity felt doubled, tripled as it flowed through him. The tightening of his core happening so quickly that he struggled to hold it back.

And then Jinyoung felt it, the rumble of Mark’s mouth. Vibrations against his skin. The echo of Mark’s moans reverberating through him. But these weren’t just any moans. No, they were plentiful with barely a breath in between them. Every exhale going straight to noise. And though they’d started at a single pitch, with every one that Mark released around Jinyoung, they got higher and higher. Nearly crying out and cursing while still eagerly swallowing him down. And the unmistakable sound made Jinyoung recognize that Mark was coming.

Jinyoung wanted more than anything to rip that bandana off his eyes but he didn’t, instead just leveraging his hips further into Mark’s whining mouth. Kicking up quicker and quicker. Feeling Mark’s hand closing around his cock, so slick to the touch as it started to move frictionless against him. And Jinyoung realized that Mark had just jerked himself off. Mark had just jerked himself off to the taste of Jinyoung. And now, he was using his cum-drenched hand to fist him. 

And this made his moan draw out of him in one long sound as his hips rutted upwards clumsily. His body shuddering out his orgasm into Mark’s hot mouth.

He lay there in the aftershocks, chest rising and falling. Mark pulling off of him and letting him suffer in the ambiguity of being untouched a little longer. But then he felt Mark’s slightly sticky hand at his chin. Smelling the mix of fluids on it. Mark guided him up a little before reaching to the back of his head and untying the fabric, letting it fall away. Jinyoung opened his eyes. And Mark was sitting over him. His shirt off and his torso still dusted with the faint, red marks from the other night. But now, he was also smeared with cum, his shorts open at the fly.

“Fuck,” Jinyoung muttered. His chest inhaled deeply. “That was…”

Mark waited for his response, smirking when it didn’t come. “Are you speechless?”

Jinyoung sighed, his shoulders falling. “God damn. Just kiss me, please.”

Mark smiled, sharp teeth catching on his lips as he leaned into Jinyoung and brought their mouths together. 

And it felt so sweet and earned now. No eagerness left to ration towards it, so it was just soft and gentle and everything they were good at being with each other. 

Jinyoung grabbed Mark by the small of his waist, pulling him down to his side until their bodies made a long line together.

Mark giggled, letting his chin rest against Jinyoung’s chest. He quieted. “Jinyoung,” he said. He shook his head. “I can’t remember being this happy in a long time.”

Jinyoung smiled. “Me neither.” 

Mark sighed. “What if we wake up tomorrow and it’s all gone to shit?”

Jinyoung shrugged, “Then, that’s tomorrow’s problem. But tonight,” he smoothed the back of his fingers against Mark’s face. “Tonight, we’re the only ones who know.”

“Know what?” Mark asked.

“Know what it’s like to be this happy.”

Mark’s eyes sparkled back. “We should get some rest.”

Jinyoung nodded. “You’re right.”

Mark cuddled himself into Jinyoung’s side, kissing him one last time. “Good night, Jinyoung,” he whispered.

And Jinyoung kissed him. Opening his eyes and trying to capture everything on his face. “Good night,” he said when he knew he’d done the best he could. And with that, he reached over and switched off the lights.

\---

**“As they're trying to beat the good grace of a sweetheart out to the point she'll comply.”**

When Jinyoung woke up the next morning, the sun was bright from outside, illuminating the tent with orange light. Jinyoung looked to his side, seeing the space beside him empty. He panicked for a moment, scrambling to sit up. And as he did, he looked at Mark’s spot, seeing in his place the green bandana stretched into a square. Black sharpie words scrawled out upon it.

_I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so cute sleeping. I’ll see you at soundcheck. -M_

Jinyoung smiled to himself. He got dressed, untucking the shirt from his shorts and forgoing the knee socks. He tied the bandana around his neck again. Feeling now like it was a trophy he'd earned. He felt for his car keys before realizing they were in his case still. So he walked himself back to the festival grounds. He showed his musician pass at the side gate before walking towards the main stage. The grounds were barren, vendors resetting. He got to the stage, combing through the cases of gear to find his and taking out his keys.

As soon as he shut the case, he heard someone call out his name. He turned towards the sound, seeing Youngjae and Bambam jogging up to the edge of the stage. 

“Jinyoung,” Youngjae rushed. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to call you.”

Jinyoung looked at his phone seeing the missed calls that he’d slept through. “What?” he shrugged. “I’m on time. Sound check isn’t for another thirty minutes.”

Bambam’s face pulled. “Why are you wearing the same clothes from yesterday?” he asked.

Jinyoung opened his mouth, waiting for an excuse to spring up but it didn’t. He ignored him. “Youngjae, what’s up?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “The Balaclava dude said he wanted to see all three of us. He said it’s an emergency.”

“What does he want?” Jinyoung asked.

“I don’t know,” Youngjae shook his head. “But let’s not keep the man waiting.”

The three of them walked over to the red ticketing tent near the main entrance. The long-haired man was sitting at the table. And as they approached, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, appraising them.

“Welcome, boys,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you all. Especially you, Jinyoung.”

And there was something in his voice that made Jinyoung flush all over as if he was in trouble. “Why me?” Jinyoung asked, his stomach sinking steadily.

The man licked his lips. Taking his time when speaking. “I got a tip off this morning. Someone overheard you last night when all of you guys were hanging out around the fire. This source said that you were bragging about how last night, after your set, you broke into my office at the club. About how you stole something important from me and had it in your car,” he enunciated each word. “And sure enough, I go look this morning. And the money is untouched and everything else is in place. Except for one thing.”

Jinyoung narrowed his eyes, “What are you talking about?”

“My balaclava, Jinyoung!” the man slammed his hand against the table, stirring to anger too quickly. “The one that protected me through the war. The one the club is named after. You stole it from my office last night!”

Jinyoung scowled. “Why would I take your mask?”

“I don’t know why any of you Ivy League boys pull that type of shit. Maybe it was a bet. Or maybe it was just because you were bored. Because you just wanted to have something to gloat about,” he shrugged. “Either way, I’m not letting you boys get away with this.”

Jinyoung blinked. “Sir, I’m sorry. There must be some confusion here,” he shifted on his feet. “Because truly, I didn’t even go to the Balaclava last night, let alone break into your office and take something.”

The man looked back, reading him. “Then, let me check your car,” he said. “If you are so sure, then prove to me it’s not there.”

Jinyoung sighed. “Fine,” he threw his hands. “Check my car.”

The four of them walked out to a small private lot behind the mainstage. Specifically there to ease the loading and unloading of equipment. They came up to Jinyoung’s car and he unlocked it. Opening the doors for him. “You see,” he said. “It’s not here.”

The man surveyed the front and back seat. He stood up. “Open the trunk,” the owner said, pointing towards it. “Let me see in there.”

Jinyoung had to keep from rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he said. Unlocking it.

The man lifted up the trunk. He rummaged slightly before pursing his lips. “Jinyoung,” he said. “What is this?” And in the air, he held up a bundle of army green fabric. A wide hole across it.

Jinyoung’s eyes fixated on it. Everything in him froze except for the beat in his ears that kicked up out of nowhere. His mind raced and still, it didn’t add up. “I-I don’t know how that got there,” he stuttered.

The man held the mask in his hands, feeling over it with his fingers. His eyes looking it over, maybe assessing potential damage. “You know,” he said, taking a step forward. “I’ve been in this local scene for many years. Hell, you could credit me with starting it,” he nearly laughed. “I have seen a lot of bad kids come through my venue. But I’ve always given them the benefit of the doubt. Because I know what it’s like to have hard times. I know what they’ll drive you to do. But, this?” He held up the mask in Jinyoung’s face. “This little prank. Done by some Ivy Leaguer with nothing better to do. This is just cruel for the sake of being cruel. And I won’t stand for that.”

Jinyoung’s tongue nearly fell down his throat. “Sir, please,” he begged. “If you just let us ask around, I’m sure we could figure out how-”

“No,” he shook his head. “Consider your contract terminated. You’re out of the festival and you’re out of the Balaclava.”

“What?” Youngjae stepped forward.

“You heard me,” the man seethed. “Just consider yourselves lucky that I didn’t press charges.” He smacked his lips. “And don’t let me ever see one of you three in my establishment again. I mean it.” And with that, he turned, walking away.

Jinyoung stood frozen. Unable to put the pieces together. He closed the trunk, leaning his hands against it. Thinking. How could the mask have possibly gotten in there? He hadn’t even had his keys last night. He’d given them to Bambam to put in his case. He told him that around the fire. Yugyeom was there and so was-

Jinyoung’s blood ran cold. “He’s dead,” he muttered.

“Excuse me,” Bambam narrowed his eyes. “Who’s dead?”

Jinyoung scoffed, starting to walk away.

“Jinyoung,” Youngjae called. “Where are you going?”

Jinyoung didn’t answer, he just kept continuing. Barreling towards the mainstage.

Jaebeom was sitting on an amp, his band members around him, chit chatting. And as he sat, he seemed to be replacing a string on his guitar.

“You,” Jinyoung came up to him. “You’re coming with me right now,” he lunged forward, trying to grab the man’s wrist.

Jaebeom dodged his reach with ease, repositioning the guitar in his lap. “I’m not actually,” he grimaced, face twisted in disgust.

“I need to talk to you,” Jinyoung seethed. Hearing Youngjae and Bambam’s footsteps catch up behind him.

“If you have something to say, please, share with the class,” he beckoned around them.

Jinyoung looked around to the faces of the two bands. They stared on, watching it unfold between their frontmen. Jinyoung’s eyes flicked over to Mark. He saw the look of panic in his eyes, everything on his face silently questioning what was going on. He sighed, looking back to Jaebeom. “You lied,” he said. “You took my keys from my guitar case and planted that balaclava in my trunk.”

“Me? Never,” Jaebeom feigned dismay.

Jinyoung seethed. “What you're trying to dig up isn't there to be dug.”

Jaebeom looked down at his guitar like he wasn’t even paying attention. He laced the string through the back of the guitar. The slide of the coiled metal making a slow zipping sound as Jaebeom pulled it through, threading it through the tuning key. “How long were you planning on keeping up this little ruse, Jinyoung?”

Jinyoung watched his hands work, feeling himself get transfixed and distant, “What are you talking about?”

Jaebeom started to turn the tuning key. “Using the band as a cover,” he tightened it more. “For your true intentions,” and more. “For your true scheme,” and more. The string going more taut with every twist.

Jinyoung fisted his hands. Feeling himself tighten as well. “You’re gonna tell the truth,” he bit out. “You’re gonna tell him that you lied.”

Jaebeom looked at him for only a moment, smirking sinisterly. “I’m not going to tell him shit,” he shook his head, the metal in his ears dancing. “And tell me if I’m wrong but it seems that you can’t be backstage anymore,” Jaebeom started to pluck at that replaced string repeatedly. Tuning it by ear. Hearing the pitch raise as he tightened that key slowly. “After all, you’re not a musician. You never were. Just playing pretend. Because isn’t that what people like you do best? Buy your way in, fake it all, just to take what you want?”

“Jaebeom,” Jinyoung gritted out.

“Security,” Jaebeom called. A burly man who had been standing at the edge of the stage heard him, coming up the stairs towards the group. “These... boys managed to sneak in here somehow.”

“We didn’t,” Bambam pleaded.

“Yeah,” Youngjae chimed in. “We are in the lineup.”

“You _were_ in the lineup,” Jaebeom pointed out. “You aren’t anymore. So I advise that you go back to your side of the tracks and stay there.” He looked to the guard.

“Come on, boys,” the security guard smacked his lips, annoyed. “Don’t make me have to call in backup.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Jinyoung said through his teeth. “We are keeping our spot. We are playing the show.”

Bambam touched his shoulder, “Come on, Jinyoung. He’s not worth it.”

And Jinyoung looked back to him. To Youngjae. Saw their tired eyes. Already surrendered.

He spun back, looking to Mark. He saw the gloss across his eyes. The twist of his mouth. Holding back.

Jinyoung felt a pang of pain in his heart. And it quieted the anger into something else. And he felt overwhelmed with the desire to cross over and pull Mark into his arms, but he withheld himself. He felt Youngjae and Bambam’s hands on his shoulders, pulling him back. Trying to guide him away. He looked over to Jaebeom’s sinister smile again. Now wide and mocking like the Cheshire Cat. “This isn’t over,” Jinyoung called out to him. “You wait. You’ll regret this,” he called out as his bandmates pulled him away.

“Au revoir, Jinyoung,” Jaebeom waved.

Hours later, Jinyoung was laying in his bed. His eyes cast off out the window, watching the light turn and replaying the day’s events on an endless loop in his mind. Thinking of a million more things he could have said, could have done. But knowing it was too late. He’d lost the Balaclava. And he couldn’t tell which hurt more. The shame of letting Jaebeom best him or the nervous look in Mark’s eyes when they both knew that Jinyoung couldn't salvage this. That Jinyoung was being exiled from Mark’s world and that he’d be back on the outside. Not even in the crowd now but further away where Mark had no need to go.

“Hey,” Youngjae called, leaning himself in the doorway of Jinyoung’s bedroom. “Bam and I were going to go get some food. Maybe a couple of drinks to wash this day down. Do you want to come?”

Jinyoung sighed. “No,” he said, still looking off. “I’m not really in the mood.” He felt the pressure shifting on his mattress. He looked over to see Youngjae perching himself on the edge.

“Jinyoung,” Youngjae said softly. “We are all disappointed. Obviously, this wasn’t ideal. But… there will be other venues. We can still work through this.”

“You don’t get it,” Jinyoung swallowed. “This was the venue. The only one that mattered. The place I needed to belong.”

Youngjae’s face twisted in confusion, “What do you mean?”

Jinyoung scoffed. “Forget it,” he said, not wanting to divulge anything else. 

“Jinyoung,” Youngjae said, fingers nervously pulling at the bedding. “What did Jaebeom mean about using the band as a cover? About having a scheme?”

Jinyoung felt his throat tighten up. “I don’t know, Youngjae,” he turned onto his side, facing away from him as to not let his face betray him. “You saw him. He’s crazy.”

And Youngjae was quiet, as if unsure of if he should press further. “Is this… Is this about that drummer? Mark?” 

Jinyoung didn’t look back. “No,” he said, firmly.

Youngjae must have decided to drop it for the day because he simply sighed, getting up. “Just call us if you change your mind. We’d love to have you.”

Jinyoung hummed. “Have fun,” he said, listlessly. Hearing Youngjae leave and moments after that, the slam of the front door.

Jinyoung stayed there for a while longer, watching the night come and his room go dark. And he felt like maybe he could fall asleep like this. Fall asleep for a long time and wake up feeling anything but the hopelessness he couldn’t escape. See anything but Mark’s panicked face when he closed his eyes. But just as he was nodding off, he felt his phone vibrate in the sheets. He pawed around for it, squinting his eyes to the bright screen.

_I’m outside._

Jinyoung’s heart fluttered. He got up, going to the front door and opening it up.

Mark stood on his front porch wearing a sweatshirt that overwhelmed him. The hood pulled up around his face and his hands in the pocket.

Jinyoung couldn’t help but smile softly at him. “Hey,” he croaked through a rough throat. “How was the show?”

Mark shrugged. “Probably the worst one I’ve ever played.”

Jinyoung felt the flutter in his chest turn into an ache. “Do you wanna come in?” he offered. “They aren’t here.”

Mark nodded. He followed Jinyoung to his room. He made himself at home, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Jinyoung shut the door, leaning up against it and looking back at him. Wishing he could keep him like this. Beautiful and warm and in his eyeline. But it all felt so futile. And he hated it. Hated feeling like he’d spent so much of himself trying to cross their threads of fate just to have Jaebeom snip through them with a flick of his wrist.

“Hey,” Mark reached out, grabbing his hands. “Come here.” he dragged him closer. Hugging his arms around him and bringing him onto the bed. Sitting him between his open legs and rubbing at his back. “You’re okay,” he soothed.

Jinyoung felt himself loosen a little. Wanting to melt into that place between Mark’s arms. He leaned his face against his shoulder, trying to memorize the feeling. Feeling that it was a fleeting thing that he couldn’t hold onto, just like his place on the stage.

“I’m sorry,” Mark said softly. “I didn’t know he’d do that. I didn’t think he’d stoop that low.” He sighed, maybe a little frustration in it. “I would have said something,” he offered. “But he’s my frontman. And if he got caught lying, he would have lost his job. And that’s my job too. So, I couldn’t.”

Jinyoung pulled away from his shoulder, looking into his eyes. “Of course you couldn’t,” he urged, putting his hands to the boy’s face. “It’s not your fault, Mark.” He let out a shaky breath. “It’s just… I don’t know,” he let them fall into his lap. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

Mark licked his lips, something a little nervous in his eyes. “I don’t get it” he said. “Your band was just for fun. Why do you look so devastated? Why does it seem like it was more than that?”

“I don’t know,” Jinyoung whispered, shaking his head.

“Then think about it.”

Jinyoung looked into his eyes.

Mark gulped, speaking softly, “Is it just cause it was him who did it?”

Jaebeom’s face flashed into Jinyoung’s mind, making his stomach stir in a way totally opposite from Mark. In a way that felt painful and deadly. He sighed. “Maybe,” he said, a little too honestly. 

“But he’s just part of it,” he rushed. “Because from the first moment I saw you, I knew the world wanted to build these barriers to keep us apart. At first, it was me in the crowd and you on the stage. And then it was Jaebeom. And then it was all the other stuff. The difference in lifestyles. Your goals. All of that.”

“But this. The shows. The music. I thought it would be enough to bring us together. A way for us to meet. An excuse to keep crossing the tracks. But like Jaebeom said. I was just playing pretend. And I wasn’t meant for your world. No matter how in love with you I am.”

Mark gnawed his lip. His hands coming around and gripping Jinyoungs'. “Maybe those things are irrelevant now.”

Jinyoung’s brows creased. “What do you mean?”

“I mean. Maybe we don’t need to use the music as a cover anymore. Maybe the tracks don’t have to feel like a wall between us. Maybe it’s enough that you wanna be mine. And that,” he hesitated. “And that I wanna be yours.”

Jinyoung’s chest twisted up. The back beat rising up to greet him. Singing through his ears like it missed being heard. “Mark,” he breathed. He shook his head. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

Mark shrugged. His voice small. “And what if I do?”

Jinyoung saw how serious he was, albeit nervous. And though moments before he’d felt weighted down with all the uncontrolled variables, now he couldn’t help the tug of his lips into a smile. “Then say it again.”

“I wanna be yours,” he repeated. 

Jinyoung felt swept away in Mark’s storm. He rushed forward, kissing him so hard that they both toppled over. Clawed his sweatshirt off his back and his pants down his hips. Thrust into him so hard that he had to grip the headboard till his knuckles went white to keep from crying out.

And when it was all said and done, they lay there. Their dewy arms and legs tangled together, bodies naked and minds hazed. Looking into each other’s faces as their heavy eyelids began to betray them, blinks getting longer and breaths getting deeper. 

And Jinyoung, on the precipice of sleep, smiled to himself. “You’re mine,” he said. “All mine,” repeating it under his breath until his dreams took him.


	4. Act IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning for this chapter (spoilers ahead!):** there's a scene involving dubious consent

**“And then the first time it occurred that there was something to destroy.”**

The light of mid-day was shining in Jinyoung’s eyes. He blinked against it before feeling the weight against him. The press of skin that burned too hot. He looked down, seeing Mark on his chest. His messy hair sticking up in every direction. Jinyoung smiled, running his fingers against it momentarily before shifting him onto the pillow. Running his thumb against his soft cheek, watching his eyes open.

“Good morning,” Jinyoung smiled.

Mark took in a deep breath. He rubbed his eyes, burying his face into the pillow and groaning.

Jinyoung laughed, reaching out combing his hair out of his face.

Mark looked back before leaning forward and planting a kiss against Jinyoung’s mouth. “Morning,” he whispered through a rough throat. “What time is it?”

“Who cares?”

“Jinyoung,” Mark whined. His mouth wide and smiling. “I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep here.”

“Hmm. Really?” Jinyoung hummed. “Why not?”

Mark huffed a laugh. “Stop. You know why.”

“And yet,” Jinyoung gasped. “You’re here. And you don’t seem too keen on rushing home just yet.” He pulled him closer.

Mark rolled his eyes, “Oh, shut up.” He leaned into him, drawing their mouths together again. Lingering there sweetly.

Distantly, Jinyoung heard a sound. His ears perked at the turn of his door. The creak of it opening. He scrambled to look towards it. 

“Jinyoung, do you know wher-”

He met Youngjae’s gaze. Watching him stop in his tracks. His wide eyes taking in the sight of them. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Mark sit up next to him, pulling the blanket closer to his chest. 

Youngjae’s wide eyes narrowed. Drilling into Jinyoung. “Emergency meeting,” he bit out. “Now.” He turned on his heel, walking out.

Jinyoung exhaled, feeling that prick of panic on the back of his neck. He looked back to Mark whose eyes were full of sudden concern. He put a hand to his face, soothing him. “It’s okay,” he urged. “He’s just taken off guard. I’ll talk to him. Just stay here.” he said, sliding out of the bed.

When Jinyoung got dressed and came out, Bambam was already sitting on the couch while Youngjae paced in front of him. Both of their faces twisted up in something that Jinyoung couldn’t read. He stopped, watching both of them look up at him.

“Please,” Youngjae beckoned towards the couch, voice laced with sarcasm. “Have a seat.” 

Jinyoung sighed, dragging his feet as he went to sit next to Bambam. Crossing his arms over his chest, feeling immediately defensive to the agitation coming off Youngjae in waves. He looked over to Bam, seeing the way he stared off. His fingers pulling at his lips, nervously. So different from the usual levity he carried.

Youngjae stopped in front of him. “Care to explain to us what the fuck is going on?”

Jinyoung rolled his eyes, “So now I can’t bring someone home if I want? When did we instate that rule?”

Youngjae shook his head. “He’s not just anyone, Jinyoung,” he rushed. He pointed towards the bedroom. “You’re harboring a fugitive.”

Jinyoung scoffed, his face twisting up. “What are you talking about?”

Youngjae sighed, “Bam, tell him. Please.”

Jinyoung looked to Bam. Saw the way his fingers were still pulling. His eyes refocusing as he turned to Jinyoung. Weighing his words before speaking. “Jaebeom’s looking for Mark.”

Jinyoung felt the flush of heat on his neck paint down his back in one fluid motion. “What do you mean? How do you know?” he rushed.

“Yugyeom called me this morning,” Bambam said. “He said that Mark didn’t come home last night. And Jaebeom was up all night. Wrecking the house. Saying he needed to find him. He’s on a rampage, Jinyoung. And he’s not going to stop until he has him back.”

“And we didn’t know about any of this until this morning,” Youngjae paced, throwing his arms. “Because you’ve kept us in the dark while you’ve been keeping Jaebeom’s play thing in your bed,” he stopped, sighing hard. “And you lied to me, Jinyoung. Last night. You said Jaebeom getting us fired wasn’t about Mark when it clearly was.”

Jinyoung tightened his arms against his chest, squaring his shoulders. “Why was it your business to know? Why does it matter?”

“Because, Jinyoung,” he glared down at him. “You know how much work Bambam put into our clothes. And how much work I’ve put into writing music. Yet you didn’t want to admit that you gambled away our contract because of some drummer who we’ve come to learn belongs to someone else already.”

Jinyoung felt overwhelmed. His throat closing up around his tongue. He swallowed the feeling down, rushing to his feet. “Well the band wouldn’t have even been a thing if it wasn’t for me!”

Youngjae gasped softly, as if he was surprised to see Jinyoung react. He stood across from him, mouth hanging slightly open. Reading him. “Oh my god,” he said. Putting the pieces together. “This was the scheme Jaebeom talked about, wasn’t it?”

Jinyoung felt the fever of being caught rush through him again. This time not containing itself but instead coating everything.

Youngjae’s eyes narrowed. His mouth smirking upwards in a sardonic smirk. “You really did use the band as a cover,” he shook his head. “You started it just to get to him.”

Jinyoung felt himself shrinking back, trapped. He looked at Bambam.

“Jinyoung,” the boy said from his seat on the couch. “Is that true?” He blinked, mouth hanging open when he too realized it. “Is that why you held that meeting after we went to the Balaclava? Because you saw them play. Because you saw him.”

Youngjae scoffed, dragging Jinyoung’s attention back to him. “You saw him and you thought if you could convince us to start a band, you could steal away the damsel from the big bad wolf.”

“That’s not true,” Jinyoung choked out. “I didn’t know about Jaebeom at the time. I didn’t know they were together.”

“And what about when you found out? Did it stop you?” Youngjae asked, rhetorically. “Of course not. That didn’t stop you. The gash on your face didn’t stop you. Losing the Balaclava didn’t stop you. And now what? You're hiding this homing beacon of trouble in our home. Asking us to bear the weight of mistakes you’ve made.”

Jinyoung’s shoulders caved together, his mind raced. He knew Youngjae was right. He knew the lengths he went to were excessive. And maybe a bit inconsiderate. But Youngjae and Bambam didn’t know Mark. They didn’t know that he was worth all that and more. And it wasn’t something Jinyoung was confident he could convey. So instead, he sought another approach. Trying to find anything that he could use as a defense. “You both are supposed to be my roommates. My bandmates. My best friends. You’re supposed to be on my side. Where is your loyalty?” 

“Our loyalty?” Youngjae gaped. “Our loyalty went out the window when you decided to withhold all this information from us.” He shook his head, “This is so typical of you, Jinyoung. Only thinking of yourself.”

Any other possible defense was crumbling in Jinyoung’s mouth. So he just stood there, outgunned and out of ideas.

Seeing no reply only made Youngjae continue. “And now Jaebeom is looking for him. And if he shows up here, there is no telling what will happen,” his eyebrows heightening. “But I’m sure it will be more than some keys against your car or a fist to your face.” 

Jinyoung exhaled, rough and ragged. Brain still looking for that morsel of logic he could sail away on, but not finding it. So he turned away from Youngjae. “Bam?” he asked, pleading for some kind of support.

Bambam opened his mouth, thinking before conceding. “He’s right,” he nodded. “I mean we knew you were an idiot, Jinyoung. But this is a new low. You’ve been making us fight your battle for months without even telling us.”

“Exactly,” Youngjae nodded. “And we aren’t going to let you take advantage of us anymore. If you want to make yourself a target for Jaebeom, go ahead. But you don’t try and drag us down with you.”

Jinyoung narrowed his eyes, “What do you want me to do then?”

Youngjae was nearly shaking with the way he was trying to restrain his temper. “He needs to leave.”

Jinyoung was silent, staring back. 

Youngjae sighed, “Meeting adjourned.” He bypassed Jinyoung, brushing shoulders on his way to his bedroom.

Jinyoung looked to Bambam.

The boy’s face was uneasy. He stood up, coming over and putting a hand to Jinyoung’s shoulder. “Don’t prolong the inevitable,” he said. “Let him go.” He patted his back, passing him and going to his own room.

Jinyoung stood there for a moment. The silence heightened. He sighed, coming back into his room and shutting the door behind him. Mark was sitting up on the bed. His chest still bare. His hands in his lap. Eyes wide on Jinyoung’s face.

Jinyoung pursed his lips. “How much of that did you hear?”

Mark swallowed. “All of it.”

Jinyoung sighed, coming to sit down on the edge of the bed. He reached out, hands gripping onto Mark’s. “I’m sorry.”

“I should go,” Mark said. “I should face him. He’s my problem.”

Jinyoung felt a rush of nerves. “No,” he shook his head. “Let me help you.”

“You can’t, Jinyoung,” Mark sighed. “Youngjae’s right. If he finds us, it’s going to end badly.”

A thought ran through him. Stupid and shortsighted but the only one that he could see. “Then, let’s just make sure he can’t find us.” His mind raced. “When’s the last time you saw the river?”

Mark’s brows creased together in confusion. “What river?”

Jinyoung smiled. “The one just over the state border.”

Mark huffed. “Jinyoung,” he tutted against his teeth. “That’s a three hour drive. That’s too far.”

“So what?” Jinyoung laughed. His mind rushing to find reason. “He won’t go looking that far. And it will give him some time to cool down. That’s better, right?”

Mark didn’t look convinced. “We can’t just keep running forever,” he said, softly. “We are going to need to face this eventually.”

Jinyoung wanted to take that look of worry off his face. So he leaned in, kissing him. “Just a little more time,” he said. “Please.”

The hesitation in Mark’s expression was still there. But it was shifting, burying itself somewhere deep. He sighed. “Let me get dressed.”

\---

**“You are a fugitive, but you don’t know what you’re running from.”**

They drove down the highways. No plan. No real acknowledgment of what was happening or what was going to happen. Just the need to escape. From Jaebeom, from the town, from the past and the future.

They listened to the radio until it got too fuzzy and they had to switch to another town’s station. They watched the fields passing by. Rows of cows and grassy hills. And a few hours later, Jinyoung took an exit. Driving down two lane roads for a while until he pulled into a parking lot in front of a restaurant.

They got up, looking at the sign. Hazy’s on the River.

“Have you ever heard of this place?” Jinyoung asked him.

Mark tilted his head, “You have?”

Jinyoung smiled. “Come on.” He grabbed Mark’s hand pulling him along as they went inside. He requested a table outside and the hostess showed them to the deck. A big wooden structure that stretched out into the river. Overlooking the banks and the trees. The water slightly green in the summer sun. The current slow and smooth.

“Why this place?” Mark asked as they sat down at a table.

“Well,” Jinyoung shrugged. “It’s the only restaurant for miles. And it's famous for fish that are caught in the river.”

“The only restaurant?” Mark’s eyes went wide. “And I thought our town was small.”

“No way,” Jinyoung laughed. “Out here, it’s just farmland. That’s how this place started. The owners pulled their boat up to this bank in the early 1800s and started a farm. But when the Civil War came, they had so many Union soldiers passing through. So they started cooking for them from the fish they caught in the river. And it was good so more people kept coming. And it just grew from there, getting passed down with each generation. So now, it’s one of the oldest family owned restaurants in the country.”

Mark looked at him incredulously. “How do you know all this?” he shook his head.

Jinyoung shrugged. “I did an article about it for a class last year. I was researching local history and I just thought it sounded interesting. So I came and interviewed the owner. It’s just crazy to think that a place like this has been here so long. And two hundred years later, it’s an extension of the community. This is an area where there is no downtown, no city. Just humble people trying to make the most of small lives.”

“I’m sure their lives don’t seem small to them,” Mark noted.

“Of course not,” Jinyoung shook his head. “No one’s story seems small to them. But everyone else’s story does. And I think it’s admirable when someone has the ability to highlight those small stories. The ones that people don’t get to hear. And make people see those human connections we all share. The ones that make those stories feel as if they’re yours too. That’s the kind of journalist I want to be.”

Mark looked across the table at him. The sunlight reflecting off the steady current of the river and into his eyes. Sparkling.

Jinyoung took in a breath. “Like,” he adjusted himself. “Remember when we met. And you were getting that Pikachu from the claw machine.”

The memory flashed across his face just like the reflection of the current. He nodded.

“And you told me the secret was timing,” he smiled. “And I always thought about that. How I’d retell that story. And that theme. Timing. How all of us can relate to that. Regardless of what side of the tracks you are from. Or what kind of music you like. All of us know that the secret, no matter what, is always timing. And you knew that.”

Mark’s eyes hardened. “But I was lying,” he said. “I didn’t know the secret. I just wanted to seem like I knew what I was doing.”

Jinyoung was a little taken aback at the confession. “But you got it?” he protested. “It worked.”

Mark shrugged. “It wasn’t good timing. It was just dumb luck.”

And the moment stretched on until Jinyoung started to laugh and Mark joined him.

They ordered their fish. Birds coming up onto the deck and waiting to be thrown a stray fry. Jinyoung hitting Mark’s arm when he fed them behind the waitress’ back. “Don’t encourage them!”

“What?” Mark laughed. “They look so desperate. I can’t help it.”

They sat out on that deck so long that as the sun was setting, the waitress brought them a slice of pie and told them it was on the house. And they told each other stories about themselves that they’d forgotten to share during this whole thing. Because there had never been time for this until now. And Jinyoung hoped it wasn’t too late.

The lights on the deck started to switch on and the mosquitos started to bite. “We should let these people close up,” Jinyoung commented. Watching the waitress mopping up the floors inside. “I saw a motel down the road. We could stay the night.”

Mark looked a little uneasy. “What about tomorrow?”

Jinyoung didn’t know what to say. So he defaulted. “Let’s worry about that tomorrow.”

“You can’t keep saying that, Jinyoung,” Mark seemed to turn a little. His mind going off somewhere. “There’s a lot to think about.”

Jinyoung sighed. “I know,” he agreed. “But since the beginning, we’ve been taking it one day at a time. I’m not too sure we know any better at this point.”

Mark didn’t seem content with that. His face troubled in the lamp light.

“Come on,” Jinyoung urged.

The motel down the road was every cliche they could imagine. A flashing neon vacancy sign. A parking lot illuminated with dimmed streetlights that had flurries of insects flying around them. A tired looking woman with long fingernails handing them a key from behind the front desk. Their room off the parking lot was small. Wood furniture and itchy orange bedding like a snapshot from another century. Right off the main road so that the sound and lights of infrequent cars passing was like white noise. 

“Home sweet home,” Jinyoung jumped onto the bed, groaning when it was firmer than he expected. He looked back at Mark.

The boy was leaning up against the dresser. His arms folded across his chest. His eyes unfocused.

“Hey,” Jinyoung got up from the bed, coming towards him. His hands going up to his hips and sliding up his sides. “Where are you at?”

Mark was quiet for a moment. His eyes still distant even from this close. “I just…” his mouth twisted for a moment before speaking. He took one of Jinyoung’s hands, fitting their wrists together and watching their skin brush. “Do you ever think about what it would have been like if we met under different circumstances?”

“Like what?” Jinyoung watched his cast-off eyes.

“I don’t know,” Mark shrugged, lacing their fingers together passively. “Maybe… maybe I’d be at Juilliard and I’d come visit my parents. And the New York Philharmonic would be in town. So for old time’s sake, I’d go to the amphitheater and you’d be in the row in front of me. Maybe you’d have an extra ticket. ‘Cause your date didn’t show or I don’t know. Some stroke of fate, right?” Mark’s lips pulled momentarily. “So I’d sit next to you and at the end of every movement, I’d look over and you wouldn’t be able to take your eyes off me.”

Jinyoung felt the smirk growing across his face. He pulled Mark’s hand closer, fitting his lips into the spaces between his knuckles. “Sounds about right,” he whispered as he kissed them. He looked up, seeing Mark’s smile growing, eyes fixated on where Jinyoung’s mouth met his skin. “And then what?” Jinyoung urged.

“And then,” Mark took in a breath like maybe he’d forgotten to. “And then afterward, you’d ask to get a drink. And we’d have a few too many. I’d tell you I was just there for the night. That I had to go back to school. That I have a big performance. And maybe you’d kiss me or something stupid before we part ways. Thinking we’d never see each other again.”

“What?” Jinyoung laughed. “I’d never-”

“But,” Mark’s eyes widened with excitement along with his smile as he poked his finger against Jinyoung’s chest. “Then I’d go back and have that big performance. And I’d come out, ready to head home, and you’d be waiting for me with a bouquet of flowers.”

Jinyoung watched the smile dance across his bright features, mesmerized. “Did you just think of that?”

Mark shrugged, “Maybe I’ve thought about it before.”

And all Jinyoung could hear was the idea of Mark daydreaming about him. And it made him feel warm all over. “I would have liked that.”

Mark’s eyes dulled a little. Like he was getting trapped in a thought again. A sadder one. “It could just be… something normal,” he said, softly. “Something easy.”

Jinyoung looked at him. Wanting nothing more than to take away all the worry. So he leaned down. So close that Mark must have thought that it was a kiss because he closed his eyes. But instead, Jinyoung put his hands to Mark’s hips again, turning him until they were both facing the mirror. “Look at us,” he said into his ear, flush against his back.

Mark opened his eyes, looking into the mirror. Eyes taking in the picture of them together.

“This. This is what it looks like,” Jinyoung said.

“What?”

“Love,” Jinyoung smirked. “And it doesn’t matter if it’s normal or if it’s easy. That doesn’t change what it is.”

Mark visibly swallowed, eyes defocused again. “How do you know?” he asked. “How are you so sure that's what it is?”

Jinyoung shrugged. “What else could it be?”

“I don’t know,” Mark said, almost to himself. “I guess…” he sighed. “I used to think I’d know when I found it. But now I’m not so sure.” He kept looking at them, titling his head. Like he was trying to picture it. “Tell me. What’s it feel like?”

Jinyoung smiled, mouth ghosting over the skin behind Mark’s ear. “Like I’d rather my legs gave out then stop chasing you,” he said. “Like I’d rather lose my voice than stop telling you. Like I’d do anything to prove to you. To everyone. To keep you where you should always be. With me.”

Mark kept looking at them together.

“Come,” Jinyoung tugged his waist away from the mirror. “Lay down with me.” He pulled him onto the bed. “Let’s get this off you,” he said, tugging Mark’s sweatshirt up his frame. Taking it off of him and tossing it onto the floor.

“You too,” Mark said, hands went up Jinyoung’s shirt. “I like sleeping on your chest.”

Jinyoung felt the smile pulling at his lips, lifting up his arms and letting Mark take it off him. 

They pulled back the covers, laying down. Mark curling into him. His cheek against the bare skin. He sighed, “I can’t tell if today was a good day or not.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I had fun,” Mark’s finger came up, tracing against the skin of Jinyoung’s chest. “But I kept having these moments. When I’d realize that this isn’t forever. And it made me sad. To be thinking that way. Tainting the moment.”

“It could be forever.”

He felt Mark’s finger pause against his skin. 

He looked down at him. “You could stay with me. Leave the band. We could move to New York City.”

Mark’s mouth twisted small. “What about the music?”

“What about it?”

Mark huffed. “My dream, Jinyoung. Making it big. How would I do that without the band?”

Jinyoung shrugged. “I know people. My family knows people. We can figure it out.”

Mark’s brows creased. “It’s important to me, Jinyoung,” he urged.

“And you’re important to me,” Jinyoung countered. “I know that if we have each other, the other stuff will work itself out. I know it.”

“I wish I knew it,” Mark said, softly. “I wish I believed it.”

Jinyoung didn’t say anything, he just slid his hand to Mark’s neck, pulling him up until their lips were nearly brushing. “You will. One day, you will,” he whispered, kissing him softly. Taking in everything. Every inch of skin that grazed together. Every ounce of pressure they were withholding from each other. Every way in which they seemed to melt together.

“God,” Mark scoffed when Jinyoung released him, laying back down against his chest.

“What?” Jinyoung asked, looking down at him while he combed fingers into his hair. 

He sighed, dreamily. Smiling. “You just feel so nice. So safe. You always feel like this.”

Jinyoung felt warm. “Then go to sleep.”

Mark’s brows furrowed for a moment. “I can’t. I don’t know what tomorrow holds.”

“It’s okay,” Jinyoung kept touching his hair. “Tomorrow, I’ll still be here. Tomorrow, I’ll still love you. Nothing could ever change that.”

Mark blinked, slow and sleepy and beautiful. “Thank you. Jinyoung,” he murmured. 

“For what?”

He bit his lip. “For always making me feel like I’m worthy of love.”

And it made Jinyoung hurt. To think of how many people had inadvertently told Mark he wasn’t lovable. His parents. Jaebeom. The men who ran as soon as it got too hard.

“Go to sleep, Mark,” Jinyoung soothed. “I’m here.”

When Jinyoung woke up the next morning, the bed next to him was empty. He sat up, looking around, but Mark wasn’t there. He got up. He tried to hurry but he couldn’t find his shirt. So he grabbed Mark’s hoodie instead, slipping it over his head and rushing out the motel door. 

But, he stopped in the doorway when he saw him. At the edge of the parking lot. He was pacing back and forth. Wearing Jinyoung’s shirt. His high tops untied. An arm folded over his chest while the other one had his cell phone to his ear. His eyes locked onto the asphalt. Shoulders drawn up. Back and forth in an endless loop.

Jinyoung watched him. His stomach churning. Because he immediately knew. He knew who Mark was talking to. And he knew that something wasn’t right. His legs felt weak. So he went back inside, sitting back down on the bed and backing himself against the headboard. Trying to still himself in the silence. In the light fighting through the cheap curtains. The way it cut through the dust in the air. But all he could hear were the stifled breaths in his chest. All he could feel was the tightness of his shoulders. He waited, minutes and minutes, for Mark to come back.

The door opened, the light of the parking lot streaming in momentarily before being smothered again. Mark stood at the closed door. Phone clutched to his chest. Looking back at Jinyoung in bed.

“Who were you talking to?” Jinyoung asked. Knowing the answer. Not really wanting to hear it.

Mark’s mouth was twisted up. A breath held in his chest. His eyes defocused. “Jinyoung.”

And it immediately confirmed every suspicion. In that word, in his name, everything was already held. The hesitation. The disappointment. The regret.

It was over.

Mark drew in a deep breath as he stepped forward, placing his phone down on the dresser. “We…” he hyper focused on the phone. “We got an offer.”

Jinyoung’s heart ran forward in his chest, making him sit up quickly. “What?” He froze.

Mark leaned up against the dresser, kicking one ankle over the other. Crossing his arms over his chest, as he finally looked up. Teeth biting at the inside of his lips. “From a record company,” he said, maintaining minimal control over his voice. “A major one. They reached out. And they really wanna sign us.”

Jinyoung’s head spun so hard it felt like vertigo. He instinctively leaned his hands against the covers, trying to steady himself under the weight of the sudden gravity shift. “Where?”

Mark looked down. “New York City,” he said, eyes coming back up. Looking sad now. “New York City, Jinyoung,” he repeated, more firmly. As if Jinyoung should know how much weight that held. 

And he did. His heart thrashed his chest. Squirming and racing for something. Anything. Feeling every inch of his skin shiver with a sudden fever. Desperate to stop it. “He could be lying,” he rushed out.

Mark’s lip worked between his teeth. Wearing against the flesh like the offer must have been wearing on his mind. “And what if he’s not?”

Jinyoung tried to shrug. Tried to seem relaxed but his body betrayed him. Making his mouth move so fast all the words ran together. “So, what?” he shook his head. “How could that be worth it? How could having to work alongside that monster, having to live under his thumb, possibly make any deal worth it?”

Mark’s eyes simmered up to a boil. Nearing a sudden edge. A drop off with no safety net underneath. “Easy for you to say,” he said, under his breath. Pausing, collecting himself. “Jinyoung,” he said his name again. And this time it sounded so exasperated. 

And Jinyoung couldn’t help but think that maybe he’d already grown tired of him. And the thought was like a stab in the chest. 

Mark reached up, running a hand through his hair and letting it rest against his neck. “This is my dream. This is what I’ve been waiting for for the past five years.”

“No,” Jinyoung rushed to frustration. Standing up to face him. “No, Mark. It’s all you felt like you _could_ want.” He felt the tremble of his voice. “There is a whole world out there. And I want to give it to you, I do but-”

Mark’s eyes narrowed. “What? Is that some kind of ultimatum?”

“No,” Jinyoung shook his head. Backtracking. “It’s just. There are other ways. That’s what I’m trying to say. That I want to help you find another way.”

Mark was silent. Eyes narrow and harsh. He shook his head. “You don’t get it, Jinyoung,” he said, voice soft. “People like you. You have options. You can make choices. People like me aren’t afforded that luxury.”

Jinyoung huffed, “People like me? What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Mark’s voice immediately roared louder, enunciating every syllable. “People with money, Jinyoung! Money!”

Jinyoung shook his head, feeling his defense system going up. Rushing to his own version of anger. “Why do you always make it about money?” he groaned. “You bring this up. Every time.” 

“Because,” Mark boomed, stepping forward. “You are completely out of touch with the fact that having money has informed nearly every aspect of your personality.”

“I’m sorry. I’m rich, Mark,” Jinyoung threw his hands, sarcastically. “I never knew that was a deal breaker.” The next words tumbling out of him. “Maybe that’s why you’re choosing Jaebeom over me.”

Mark stared back at him. Mouth open with shock. And when he spoke again, his voice wasn’t loud anymore. But soft, as if he was having a revelation. “You honestly think this is about him,” he shook his head. “Oh my god. You’re just as obsessed with him as he is you, huh?”

“What?” Jinyoung grimaced. “What are you talking about?”

“Wow,” Mark let go of a laugh. Something sad and callous and tired. His eyes blinking. Adding it all up. “This all makes sense. The way you were fueled by his threats. The way you were always in competition with him. You never cared about my dream. About what I wanted. You just wanted me as far away from him as you could get me. That’s all it ever was.”

“Mark, no,” Jinyoung protested, wanting to stuff the things he’d said back down where they’d never be found but knowing the damage had already been dealt. “It’s so much more than that. You must know. You must.”

Mark shook his head, not even hearing him. “You’re just as bad as him.”

Jinyoung’s face fell. His blood ran cold. His eyes glossing over. He stepped closer, reaching out. “Don’t say that. You don’t mean that.”

Mark evaded him. “How dare you try and convince me that you loved me when you didn’t even know me,” he scoffed. “When it never was love. When it was just you being obsessed with the idea of me. Because I was just a Juliet for you to sing about, huh? Something to chase?”

Jinyoung trembled. He tried to reach out again, but Mark just backed away. “Don’t say that,” he begged again, chest caving in. Feeling like he couldn’t breathe.

Mark’s eyes shined in the light, his brows creasing together. “You know when I met you, I said you were something different, something more” and he smiled for a moment, disconnected from the time and place. But the face staled until it fell. Leaving nothing but blankness across his features. “But you’re not. You’re just more of the same.”

“Mark,” Jinyoung choked out. “What can I do? Please. Tell me. What can I do?”

Mark paused. Thoughts blackening his eyes. He reached down to the hem of Jinyoung’s shirt on him, tugging it over his head.

Jinyoung's eyes widened in shock. Not knowing what he was doing. Looking at his beautiful body. The leaned muscle and the black ink. Jinyoung’s legs went so weak he had to sit on the edge of the bed. Raising his eyes to him in an angle that felt worshipful. Heat flushing his face.

Mark motioned towards him. “Give me my sweatshirt.”

Jinyoung’s stomach fell. Something about it felt overly symbolic in the moment. Like Mark was asking for Jinyoung to relinquish every bit of himself that he’d given away. And it wasn’t what he wanted. “No,” he backpedaled his elbows and heels against the bed, crawling away.

Mark sighed, exasperated. “Come on, Jinyoung. Take it off. It’s not yours.”

Jinyoung didn’t say anything, he couldn’t. So he just kept creeping higher onto the bed. Out of Mark’s reach. Needing to hold onto something of Mark’s and never let go.

Mark came forward, crawling up onto the bed. He reached out, hand fisting into the material and yanking him closer. “Jinyoung,” he gritted through his teeth. “Give it to me.” 

Jinyoung struggled against his grasp. Feeling the slip of his hands going underneath. Trying to push it up his frame. Instinctively, he planted his feet, rocking his hips up in an effort to squirm away.

“What are you doing? Stop moving,” Mark scoffed, straddling him and pressing all his weight down. “God. You’re impossible. You’re just like him.”

“I’m not,” Jinyoung cried out through a wet throat, trying to thrash but feeling powerless under Mark.

“How?” Mark huffed, dark and low. Hands gripped tightly into the fabric, leaning in too close to leverage it higher. “Tell me how you aren’t just like him.”

Jinyoung’s mind raced. Mark’s presence so close and heavy on him. Stirring up too much. Bringing it all to the forefront. “When I kiss you, it’s different,” he panted. “And when I fuck you. You said it’s nothing like it is with him.”

Mark didn’t stop, just kept trying to pull at the fabric until Jinyoung was sure it would be stretched out. Never the same again. “Is that what you want?” he growled.

Jinyoung felt light headed. “What?”

“Want me to kiss you like I kiss him. Fuck you like I fuck him,” he seethed. “Like we’re angry. Like we hate each other.”

Jinyoung inhaled, his whole chest shaking and quivering under Mark’s weight. So stunned that he couldn’t do anything. No amount of breathing feeling like it was enough. “Mark,” he pleaded. Not sure what he was pleading for anymore.

And then, Mark’s mouth was on his, nipping at his lip instantly. He gasped but Mark just licked into it. Devouring the sound. Pressing his hips down until they were grinding into Jinyoung’s.

All the adrenaline flooding through him channeled down where it wasn’t supposed to go. Seeping into his lap defiantly. And he tried to push those feelings down but the feeling of Mark on his mouth was too thrilling, even if the tone was totally different.

He arched up into him, complying as the sweatshirt came off his head easily now. Their bare chests brushing together. Mark’s skin as hot as when he slept. 

“Is this what you want?” Mark bit out, hand going down to knead at Jinyoung’s through his pants.

Jinyoung couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. And every emotion was already so heightened by the fight that it just mutated seamlessly into this depraved passion. He grinded into Mark’s hand. “Anything,” he whimpered. “Give me anything.”

Mark scoffed over him. “God, you’re so desperate,” his voice heavy with disgust, before kissing him again. Insistent and greedy.

Jinyoung felt himself hardening against his palm, hating it but not knowing how to stop. Whining at the bite of Mark’s teeth against his lips. Not able to tell where the line between hurt and pleasure was.

Mark pulled away, mouth red and swollen. He gripped Jinyoung’s hips until he was turning him over onto his front with ease.

Jinyoung couldn’t see his face now. And it harkened back to the tent. If only in that way. He held on to the feeling of Mark’s hand combing down his back. The release he felt as he undid his pants. Yanking them down his legs and onto the floor.

Unlike the tent, Mark didn't stop touching him. His hands were right back on him again. And when Mark’s fingers felt for his entrance, they already felt so slick. And Jinyoung had to remind himself that Mark always traveled with lube in his pocket. Half convinced that even if he hadn’t, Mark would be trying to push into with spit and resentment alone.

Mark’s fingers worked into him. And it made him so mad because of course it felt good but it was still wrong. It was rushed and angry and loveless. But Jinyoung’s body didn’t seem to know the difference. It just kept opening up beneath him.

He was barely worked open when he felt the weight of Mark’s cock against him. And he whimpered half out of overwhelming need and half out of distressing suspense. He felt the burn of Mark sliding into him. He hissed through his teeth.

“Fuck,” Mark groaned. And his hand reached around, feeling for Jinyoung with his slick hand. Fast and reckless in his strokes. Like it was just a means to an end.

Jinyoung couldn’t help but moan at the rush of feeling. His whole body so on edge that the touch was strong and welcomed. Something his senses could grab onto as they elevated higher and higher.

Mark leaned forward. His chest feeling firm and hot against Jinyoun’s back. “You wanna be Jaebeom so bad,” Mark gritted out in his ear. “Then cum like he does.”

And he hated the way his body reacted, tensing up immediately. His eyes forcing closed and his mouth opening up to moan loud. When he came, his arms gave out until his face was pressed into the sheets. And it was then that he could feel the way the fabric soaked up the tears in his eyes.

Mark let go of him but didn’t stop. He just kept thrusting into him. Even faster now. His breaths coming out quick and jagged now. And it nearly sounded like crying but Jinyoung was scared to look back and see.

Mark’s fingers came up, looping around Jinyoung’s neck and pressing down. Not enough to hurt him but enough to shake him. Enough to make him question if this was the same person who he’d fallen in love with. Because being touched like this didn’t feel like Mark at all.

It was only a few more thrusts before Mark was cumming. He didn’t make a sound. He just grasped at Jinyoung’s neck a little harder when he did. Holding his breath until he released him and they were both gasping.

Jinyoung slumped into the sheets. Still feeling the ghost of Mark’s fingertips around his neck. His breaths so splintered like he wanted to cry but couldn’t. He turned his head, daring to look up at Mark.

Mark was looking down at him. His pants open and his chest bare. His eyes so broken and beautiful. His cheek twitching, like he too might cry. But he didn’t. He just lay himself down next to him on the bed.

They lay there for what felt like hours though it was likely minutes. At least a foot of divide between them that had never been before. When Jinyoung finally looked over, he saw Mark staring up at the ceiling. His eyes were totally different now. Impenetrably hard, not a fleck of sparkle to be found. Just cold, distant, blackness. And Jinyoung had never seen that. It was almost unrecognizable. And somewhere deep, Jaebeom’s words reverberated.

_You don’t know him at all, do you?_

Jinyoung tried to find his voice. But even when he did, it sounded meek in his own ears. “Mark.” He reached out his hand, touching Mark’s chest. Trying to offer back that gentleness.

Mark didn’t move for a moment, before getting up slowly. Seeming to ignore the way Jinyoung’s hand fell away. He started to pull his clothes back on. Turned away. Like he didn’t want Jinyoung seeing his face or his body. Closing himself off. “Take me home,” he sighed. “I want to go home.”

The ride back was silent. No radio. No speaking. Just the thrum of the engine. Just the static of all their thoughts circling around them. Mark’s energy wasn’t that biting anger that had exploded Jinyoung’s perceptions of him. Now it was the opposite side of the spectrum. Quiet and cold. Permeating the space between them with brutally tense shame. And Jinyoung couldn’t decide which was worse. The vicious, resentful sex or the speechless contempt they were both letting take hold.

Jinyoung pulled up to the apartment as the sun was setting, streaming golden light across the ‘For Lease’ sign stuck into the yellowing lawn, a phone number written out in handwritten black ink. In one of the parking spots was a moving truck. Open and half loaded with boxes. And it hit him that Jaebeom had not been lying. They were picking up and leaving town as soon as possible.

Just like last time, Jaebeom was sitting on that stoop. But when Jinyoung met his eyes, they didn’t look hurt. No, they held contentment. Like that of a winner. And it made Jinyoung’s stomach sour.

Jinyoung parked. “Let me get the door for you,” he said softly, holding back from touching Mark’s leg. He got out, rounding the car and opening it up. Letting Mark step out. Seeing his eyes flash up towards Jaebeom, towards the moving truck. A breath trapped in his chest. Like maybe it was hitting him too.

Jinyoung leaned up against the door, his hands going into his pockets. He watched him. The setting sun meeting the highs and lows of his face. Cruelly beautiful. Even if he wasn’t his. Maybe especially when he wasn’t his. “Mark,” he called out.

The boy’s face snapped back, refocusing. Listening.

Jinyoung felt his breaths quickening in his chest, panic rising up. Eyes getting dewy. He opened his mouth, hesitating. “Can I just…” he choked out. “Can I hold you for a moment?”

Mark looked at him. His hard eyes were red as if he was fighting back something. Though Jinyoung couldn’t pick apart what it was. What was he thinking? Whatever it was, he must have made peace with it momentarily. Because the boy just softened his features and nodded.

Jinyoung reached out, hands going to Mark’s sides and pulling him in.

And Mark didn’t resist. No, instead his arms wrapped around Jinyoung as well. His face going into his shoulder and resting there. And none of that cruelty was there now. No, now it was them again. Gentle and earnest, albeit painful and confusing. 

Jinyoung’s eyes momentarily went to Jaebeom sitting on the front step. The way the frontmen watched them embrace. Gone was that fiery jealousy he’d so often held. In its place, a smirk that Jinyoung wanted to punch off his mouth.

Jinyoung closed his eyes, struggling to breathe as the uneasiness sat heavy on his chest. “Please, Mark,” he swallowed, whispering out. “Please don’t leave me.”

Mark sighed against him. His voice soft in Jinyoung’s ear. “You’re asking me to give up my past and my future. Everything I worked so hard for and everything I’ve dreamed of. And that’s just too much to give you.”

Jinyoung knew it was right. But it didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Please, hear me,” Mark pleaded. “This isn’t about him. It’s about me. Okay? I'm choosing me.”

Jinyoung didn’t respond with words. Instead, he just held Mark closer. Breathing hard and tearing up. Trying to remember everything. The way his shoulder blades felt through his shirt. The way he felt so warm like that late afternoon sun.

“Jinyoung,” Mark said, voice a little tight from how firmly he was being squeezed. “You should go.”

He felt his stomach churn. Knowing this was it. He felt Mark pulling away, still in his arms but facing him. The press of his hips still pinning him the car, keeping his knees from buckling. “I’m going to think of you,” Jinyoung whispered out, eyes and voice wet. “All the time, I will.”

Mark’s face went uneasy again. He looked down and Jinyoung resisted the urge to lift his chin back up. “Can you do me a favor?”

Jinyoung nodded. “Anything.”

Mark swallowed, his voice a little rough when he spoke. “Can you…” he sighed, collecting himself again. Looking back to Jinyoung. “Can you not remember me like that?”

Jinyoung’s eyebrows creased together.

Mark’s fingers traced down his arms, busying himself. “Like what we did this morning. That wasn’t...,” he shook his head, struggling to look at him again. “That wasn’t how I wanted to leave things.”

Jinyoung blinked back. “Mark,” he said softly. “I…” And he was ready to protest. But he could see how serious the boy was. How much he was hurting. And he didn’t want him to hurt anymore. “Look at me,” he called, watching Mark’s face slowly raise to meet his eyes. Jinyoung felt that uneasiness just getting heavier. “The way you touched me. At the motel,” his voice shook. “Don’t let anyone do that to you again. Not him. Not me. Not anyone.” He felt the tears break down his cheeks. “Cause you’re worth so much more than that.”

Mark’s brows creased together. Holding back everything.

Jinyoung swallowed. “I really do want the best for you. I hope you know that.”

Mark’s mouth twisted, nose scrunching up for a moment. “I know,” he nodded. “I know.” He bit at his lips. “You should go,” he repeated, this time stepping back. His weight and his warmth gone. Only meant to be a memory from here on out.

Jinyoung took one last look at him. Knowing there wasn’t anymore he could do. “Goodbye,” he said, hating it. Hating how the word tasted.

Mark’s mouth upturned, forcing a smile that was laced with anything but. “Goodbye, Jinyoung,” he said before turning away. He walked himself back up the path, stopping in front of Jaebeom.

And Jinyoung couldn’t see Mark’s face but saw the way that Jaebeom’s smile bloomed. And he couldn’t stand the sight of it. So he got in his car, not looking back as he pulled away. As he drove back over the tracks. Tears and white knuckles against the steering wheel.

After that day, time moved differently. It almost felt like one endless night that Jinyoung couldn’t wake from. As if Mark had plucked the sunshine from the sky and left only blackened clouds in his wake. First, it was the days that dragged on, Jinyoung laying in his bed and looking up towards the ceiling. Fluorescent Adolescents wasn’t mentioned again in their household. In fact in those first few days, Youngjae would purposefully pass his door without so much as a glance.

Some nights, Bambam would notice Jinyoung had skipped dinner and he’d bring two plates of food in. They’d sit together and eat, Bambam doing his best to ease the loneliness. The boy would talk just to fill the silence, never pressing Jinyoung to contribute but just trying to distract him with some wild story that was definitely only half true.

But then time started to move in weeks. Summer fading languidly into autumn. Everything drying up and getting even grayer. Classes started again and Jinyoung dragged himself to them. But his once lively school life was long gone. His classmates just looked on at him with worried eyes, trying to invite him out. And after enough refusals, they stopped extending the invitations. 

Then one night, a few weeks in, Youngjae leaned into Jinyoung’s door. “What are you working on?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest.

He was in bed, his laptop open. “An article for a class.”

Youngjae sighed. Cutting to the chase. “I want to be friends again.”

Jinyoung took his hands off the keyboard. His fingers twisting together in his lap. A softened smile on his face. “I could use a friend.”

And Youngjae proceeded to crawl into his bed, leaning his head against his shoulder and starting to tell him about how his semester was going. And at some point, Bambam was in the doorway too. “How could you two forget about me?” he scoffed, crawling up on the other side and telling Jinyoung to look up a funny video he saw earlier. 

But maybe the most unbearable were the months. The months seemed truly endless. And as his classmates tried their best to soak up the remaining remnants of the college experience, Jinyoung was trying to will time to pass with a myriad of projects. Going around the town and writing about nearly anything and everything he could. But it wasn’t until he sent in a piece about a local funk band that the editor of the school newspaper replied back, “I want more of this.”

He started showing up to all the venues he could. And it was only when the popularity of his music column really took off that the owner of the Balaclava gave him a call and unwillingly let him back in. “But if there is even one crumb of trouble, you’ll never work in this town again.” It was a risk Jinyoung was willing to take.

The first night he crossed the tracks again, it was bitter cold and some pop punk cover band was playing. The crowd was just as unified and harsh as he remembered. But everywhere he looked, there were ghosts. Near the back of the stage where a drum set used to sit, the claw machine that was still full of Pikachus, the door to backstage that dripped white fluorescent light whenever open. And it felt more real than anything else had the past few months. 

Jinyoung got black out drunk before the end of the night. And when he woke up in the morning, he wasn’t in his own bed. No. He was on the floor of that treehouse in the president’s backyard, face stale with tears. And in the blue light of dawn, he climbed back down the steps and over the fence. Walking himself home as his mind tried to outrun the memories that had soaked through everything in him. And each consecutive time he returned to the Balaclava, the same thing would happen. Yet he kept going. Kept writing. Because maybe he too had bad habits.

Spring came. Jinyoung looked in the mirror, adjusting the graduation cap on his head. The tassel swinging as he made sure it sat straight on his ears. And he dipped his face closer to the mirror, inspecting that scar against his cheek. The one that Jaebeom’s ring had left. The one that summer had left. And stupidly, he hoped it would never fade. That it would be something everyone could see on him forever. Because at least it was tangible. Unlike these residual feelings and memories that couldn’t be articulated. That Youngjae and Bambam could see remnants of. Obvious in the way they caught his eyes when he was staring off. But also obvious that they didn’t know what to say.

In his inbox, five emails stacked against each other. Each one was an offer from a different publication. Each one promising something different. Some promised fortune. Some fame. Some comfort. Some adventure. But only one promised something worth more than all of that combined. And it remained unopened and unread.

He sat at graduation, watching Mark’s mother give a speech. And he tried not to feel Mark in every word she said. 

“Everything up until now has only been the beginning. Now, it’s your time to go out into the world. A time for you to prove what really matters to you. And as you all embark on this next adventure, I implore that wherever you go, go with all your heart. And remember if you want something you’ve never had, you must be willing to do something you’ve never done.”

And that night, he went home. Sitting on the floor of his room, surrounded by cardboard boxes, ready to move out the next morning. And he stared at the one singular offer in his inbox. The only one that ever really mattered. His nails bitten down to the skin and his eyes glossed over. And in between heartbeats that felt more like back beats, he typed out his acceptance letter.


	5. Act V

**“I'm always just about to go and spoil a surprise. Take my hands off of your eyes too soon.”**

**Eight Months After Graduation.**

The music flowed through Jinyoung’s ears. Still angry. Still kicking and screaming. But different. It wasn’t rock this time. No. It was Dvorak. New World Symphony. And it held all the things that Dvorak had wanted it to. A foreigner traversing a new land through sound alone. The mix of sounds and colors. The anxiety of crossing into the unfamiliar. The blast of horns and the razor-sharp staccatos of the strings. Brutal and physical in a completely different way. Growing and growing just to die again. Over and over again. Leaving something hopeful in the air.

Jinyoung looked to the seat next to him. Glaringly empty in contrast with his own. The two seats that had become familiar over the past few months. Ever since he had graduated and accepted an offer at a music magazine in New York City. His philharmonic season tickets warranting the same view every time. The same empty seat every time. Tucked into the corner of the hall. And from this intentional vantage point, he could turn his head subtly to see the audience. So as the symphony played, his eyes wandered. Listening to that music and wondering if it might be the night. To see him again. To cross paths. To offer up that seat next to him. The script of the interaction had been played out in his head a million times over yet never spoken allowed.

As the hands of the musicians glided over the strings and keys, Jinyoung’s eyes drifted up into the boxes. Scanning each and every face. Looking for the same thing over and over. In every single face he saw in this city. The bright sparkle of those dreamy eyes. The twist of a lip between those sharp teeth. But there was nothing but the passive faces of those who didn’t know them. Didn’t know of the things that had transpired. The feelings that couldn’t be transcribed into words. Not unlike those that Dvorak had needed a whole symphony to illustrate. That music building just to inevitably fall again. Just like Jinyoung’s hopes every performance.

The symphony finished. Another standing ovation that had Jinyoung’s eyes painting up and down the rows. And afterward, he strolled around the lobby for half an hour. Watching everyone file out in their suits and dresses and fur lined coats. Their voices and laughs loud and cheerful. Nothing like that music they’d just bare witness to. Almost as if it hadn’t happened at all. Nothing like the quiet wistfulness between Jinyoung’s ears.

When the routine proved again to be a futile endeavor, he decided to walk the length home. He cut through Central Park. It was dark and the vagrants were calling it a night. It was cold too. Winter now. And something about New York in the winter felt different. And walking the city streets with his hands in his pockets and his breath like smoke, Jinyoung still couldn’t put his feelings into words. But he knew he’d never known loneliness like this before.

He came up to his apartment. It was a pre-war building that had been gutted and renovated in the last few years. Black iron and white grey marble looking crisp and regal on the outside. But the inside was all wide windows that overlooked the cityscape. Exposed brick against one wall while the rest of the apartment read modern. And as soon as Jinyoung had seen it, back in the summer when he first moved here, he had imagined it being a home for more than just him one day. But that day still hadn’t come and now Jinyoung had to come back each day and try and fill the space with something other than that crippling solitude. And try he had.

Jinyoung toed off his dress shoes at the door and cast his keys onto the kitchen counter.

“Is that you?” called a voice from the bedroom, the door cracked open enough to spill some light into the dark living room.

Jinyoung sighed from deep in his chest. “No, it’s a burglar,” he called back, shrugging off his wool coat and throwing it onto the couch. He dragged his feet, pushing open the bedroom door.

Jaebeom was lying on his bed, a book between his hands. Not even looking up from what he was reading.

“You let yourself in?” Jinyoung asked, coming up to the edge and taking off his blazer.

“You gave me a key for a reason,” Jaebeom said, turning a page. His hair was longer now, folded back behind his ears when he was concentrating on something. His accessories had been toned down. Maybe just a thin chain around his neck every now and then. Simple hoops in his ears. The dropped shoulders of his sweater dwarfing his broadness, long sleeves covering the majority of his hands. Everything about him a little less fierce than the version Jinyoung had originally met.

And it had Jinyoung asking himself why he had given Jaebeom a key. But the answer had been the same for so long that it was honestly more sad than interesting. It had started sometime in the summer, shortly after Jinyoung moved to the city. And he’d been going to a few of Brainstorm’s shows when they played locally as they were trying to build up their reputation on a new scene. He’d been standing on the outskirts of the crowd. A cap on to shroud his features in darkness. And he watched Mark hit those drums like he was trying to right all the wrongs in his life. Still so beautiful and obscure and always out of reach. And at the end of one show, the band was taking their final bows and Jinyoung looked to Jaebeom and saw him staring back. He felt his throat constrict as the man’s eyes burned holes into him. Angrier than maybe they’d ever been.

Jinyoung took off for the emergency exit, pushing through it and jogging down an alleyway. But Jaebeom followed and he was faster. 

Jaebeom pushed him to the ground, hovering over him and grabbing him by the front of his shirt. “You!” he screamed, spitting and wild. And he raised his fist, delivering a blow to Jinyoung’s cheek that had it splitting upon contact with one of his rings.

And although it hurt, it felt a bit nostalgic too. Remembering parking lots and treehouses. Putting bruises alongside bruises. Secrets spilled in front of crowds. The bite of mosquitos on a riverside deck. Hot summer nights in a town with nothing to offer except a drummer with sparkling eyes. And Jinyoung was trying not to get lost in those visceral memories. “Jaebeom,” he called out, wincing and raising himself on his elbow. He watched as the fist raised again. Bracing himself for another blow.

Jaebeom stayed still for a moment. Breaths seething out of him, fist trembling midair, eyes full of that fire that Jinyoung remembered. And it wasn’t right but some part of him ached for something familiar, even if it was a reopened scar on his cheek. “You’re the reason! You know that?” the man screamed. Tears coming up into his throat and eyes. “You’re the reason he doesn’t talk to me anymore. Why he doesn’t touch me anymore. Ever since you!” he cried. “Ever since we left that god-awful town and came here. It’s all your fault!”

And the information made Jinyoung’s head spin more than the punch.

Ten minutes later, they were sitting on opposite sides of the narrow alley passing a cigarette between them. And Jinyoung didn’t usually smoke but when an angry man offers to share a cigarette instead of a fist fight, you take the cigarette. And they didn’t need to exchange any more words to see that they were both wearing their shared hurt like wounds that wouldn’t heal. Wounds that they could hold up next to each other, trying to see whose was deeper. As if it really mattered. Because hurt was hurt no matter how you wore it. And somewhere between the wordlessness, the silent solidarity, the ache for something familiar, Jaebeom ended up back at Jinyoung’s apartment.

Now, it had been four months. Maybe five. Jinyoung didn’t see a point in counting. He sat down on the edge of the bed, working his socks off. He threw them into a corner that he knew he’d ignore for the next few days until Jaebeom got fed up and picked them up for him.

He looked over to Jaebeom reading in his bed. A sight that had become too …something. Too routine? Too miserable? Too cliché? He sighed. “What did you guys do today?” he asked. And it was weird. This courtesy they offered each other. Passively investing in each other’s lives. Because at the end of the day, there were millions of people in New York but only two that knew what it was like to lose Mark.

Jaebeom shrugged. “More recording. Second album should be done in five weeks.”

Jinyoung licked his lips. The question came up without prompting. “How was he?”

Jaebeom didn’t respond for a moment. His eyes losing focus as he thought. “How am I supposed to know?” he furrowed his brows. “If it isn’t something about the music, if it isn’t the bare minimum, he won’t give me the time of day.”

Jinyoung was quiet. And he didn’t want to say it. Because they had an unspoken rule. That they didn’t compare anymore. But it was hard not to. And it was hard to think about how Jaebeom got to see Mark practically every day for work. Yet Jinyoung had to wait for brief glimpses in interviews or music videos or somewhere in the back of a venue. Always out of Mark’s eyeline. Always on the periphery. As to not disturb him. As to stay a memory.

“You go to the philharmonic again?” Jaebeom asked, closing his book and placing it on the bedside table. Stretching out his back like a cat.

“Yeah,” Jinyoung said, his voice already low. Already indicating failure. He pulled at the tie around his neck. Casting it off in the direction of the socks. He looked over to Jaebeom, watching him pull a cigarette out of a carton. “Hey,” he bit out. “What did I tell you about smoking in here?”

Jaebeom huffed. Like he wasn’t taking him seriously. Putting the cigarette to his lips. Talking around it. “I’m not going on the balcony,” he mumbled, flicking his lighter a few times. “It’s fucking subzero out there.”

Jinyoung crawled over. He reached out, plucking the cigarette from between his teeth and tossing it onto the floor. Looking back at him with knowing eyes. Because Jaebeom knew better. They’d been doing this long enough.

Jaebeom sighed, looking at him with sardonic eyes. His shoulders and his face tightening. “God. You’re such a prick,” he spat. “It’s a wonder he ever liked you.”

Jinyoung felt a flash of anger run through him. The kind that Jaebeom seemed to be able to summon on command. “And you’re an asshole. No wonder he wants nothing to do with you,” he hissed back.

Jaebeom glared at him. The look in his eyes speaking volumes. Layered with hurt and anger and something else too. Something that seemed to say, ‘We know each other too well to resort to that.’

Jinyoung sighed, his shoulders falling. He turned away from him. “I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “I’m tired today.” And there was a moment of silence before he felt the weight of the bed shifting.

Jaebeom’s hands came to his shoulders, sliding until he was hanging on his back. Voice in his ear. “We both are,” he said. “Let’s just drop it.”

Jinyoung felt the now familiar weight of Jaebeom against his back. Too broad to be the one he wanted. His hand came up, grasping at Jaebeom’s firm arm. Squeezing it as if to agree. He turned to face him. Seeing everything about him up close. Remembering how it used to make his blood rush when they first started this. Not in a good way. Not the way Mark did. No, it was like fear when it first started. Not knowing it if would end in a fight or something else. But it didn’t feel like that anymore. No. Now, it just flooded him with a sense of shame that seemed undeniably shared.

Jaebeom’s eyes flicked down to his mouth before he leaned in and kissed him. Something aching in it. Like they were both open wounds pressing against each other. Both empty. And neither filling the spaces no matter how hard they tried. But damn it, they kept trying nonetheless.

Jinyoung sighed into the kiss, murmuring against the man’s firm mouth. “What are we doing, Jaebeom?”

Jaebeom pulled away for a moment, looking into his eyes. They were still layered with pain. The kind that never seemed to leave either of them. He sighed. And it was ragged and rough and all the things that Jaebeom was. “Hurting.” He kissed Jinyoung again before pulling away, hitting Jinyoung’s shoulder lightly. “Take off your shirt.”

Jinyoung complied. Undoing the buttons of his white dress shirt with his nibble fingers. Watching as Jaebeom pulled his sweater over his head, ruffling his long hair.

And this was how it usually started.

Kissing and biting. Jinyoung bringing the softness while Jaebeom brought the hostility. And it didn’t meld well but they didn’t care. Jinyoung running his hands up his torso, up into his neck, laying him down with the utmost care, while Jaebeom pulled at his hair and left bruises on his chest.

And at some point, Jaebeom would kick off his jeans and Jinyoung would work off his dress pants and Jinyoung would put a couple fingers in Jaebeom and hear him scream out. His eyes screwed close, his chest heaving. And Jinyoung didn’t have to question who was behind his eyelids.

When Jinyoung reached for the lube, he tossed it onto Jaebeom’s chest for a moment, without thinking.

And Jaebeom stared back at him, eyes questioning. “Did he used to…” his voice trailed off.

“Yeah,” Jinyoung rushed. Feeling the nerves stir in him. The pit in his stomach deepen. Thinking distantly about what depravity will do to a man. Knowing there was no better example than him and Jaebeom. “Could you…” he licked his lips, eyebrows drawing together.

Jaebeom nodded. He started to squeeze it out, reaching forward to coat Jinyoung. Seeming to tamper his urgency in favor of Jinyoung’s gentleness for just a moment.

And Jinyoung wouldn’t look down because all he wanted to imagine were long, pretty fingers and strong muscles working against him. Jinyoung breathed through the haze of arousal, “And he’d curse for me. God, the way he’d whine.”

Jaebeom’s hand came up around the back of his neck, pulling him down. “Fuck,” Jaebeom whined into his ear, making him shudder.

After that, Jinyoung didn’t bother taking his time before pressing the man into the mattress. Jaebeom’s body underneath giving back into the vicious thrash that wasn’t any different from the way he played guitar on stage. Jaebeom clawed for him, leaving scratch marks up and down his back.

Jinyoung kissed him. Trying to mimic that same patience and precision he remembered from Mark.

“Fuck,” Jaebeom whined again, peppering Jinyoung’s open mouth with a string of curse words. Each one pitched a little higher from the last. Like a cover of your favorite song. Vaguely stirring something in you but nothing as strong as the original. “Grab my throat,” he seethed. 

And Jinyoung didn’t even have to question it. He knew why Jaebeom was saying it. He knew who they kept trying to replicate in each other.

When they inevitably came, they both moaned Mark’s name. And when Jaebeom went to peel the sheets away, Jinyoung pulled him closer and told him not to leave. And when they fell asleep, Jaebeom’s head was resting on Jinyoung’s chest, tilted away enough to not see his face. And maybe it had been shameful the first time this happened, but by now, it was something else. Knowing that they weren’t any better than the other. That they were both two broken men trying to piece together their fragmented memories into something whole. But wholeness never came. It only led to more depravity. Doomed to try and recreate the same person in each other. Over and over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to follow.
> 
> Thank you to my friend, [@parkjunihoe](https://twitter.com/parkjunihoe)/[ao3: pepipeaches,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepipeaches/pseuds/pepipeaches)for all the help with this one. You were my rock!
> 
> As always, come yell at me on Twitter: [@oceans4jinyoung](https://twitter.com/oceans4jinyoung)  
> 


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